Brace For Impact
by Someonesaidcake
Summary: Felicity Smoak hated mysteries. The sinking of the Gambit was one she thought she could solve four years after it went down. But when her helicopter crashes on Lian Yu she finds more than she bargained for. /AU / No Arrow / Stranded / Island / Tarzan-ish /
1. Crash

"Brace for impact."  
Felicity heard the words at least a dozen more times after the pilot had spoken them. Screaming alarms echoed through the helicopter as it spun in circles; the tail rotor completely sheered off.

Felicity's brain was trying to keep up as smells, sounds, and flashing hues of amber flames from the back of the helicopter fogged her brain.

_Brace for impact._  
She closed her eyes to hold onto some semblance of control. If she was going to die like this, with those three words etched into her brain, well then the least her mind could do was to offer her some memories to call up on.

A mother she would never see again.  
A nice, comfortable job that she wouldn't go back to.  
A cat that she really hoped her neighbour would remember to feed.  
That really nice dress she bought last month on a drunken online splurge but hadn't found the occasion to wear it yet.

_Brace for impact._  
_Okay._

Her fingers gripped tighter to the seatbelt, turning her knuckles white and she could hear Gavin next to her screaming every curse word he knew – some of which, in a lucid moment, Felicity realised she hadn't heard before.

_Sorry Gavin._  
He had boarded this helicopter because she had asked.

_Brace for impact._  
This had all been some foolish expedition because she hated mysteries and she thought she could solve this one.

So much for that.

_Brace for impact._  
So she did.

**/four months prior**

"Why am I being fired?" Felicity asked as she hot-footed it into the large corner office with the skyscraper view on the 45th floor of the Queen Consolidated building.  
"Ms Smoak is it?" Moira Queen replied calmly, and unwavering calm in her tone that suggested a pint-sized IT girl barging into her office in sensible Mary Janes was an everyday occurrence.  
"Yes, and I am without a doubt the single most valuable member of your technical division," she rambled as her eyes maintained somewhat of a laser focus. "And that's including my _so called_ supervisor," she paused to take a breath, the enormity of her actions in the moment starting to resonate.

But, she'd already burst in the office like a mad woman, _no sense stopping now._  
"Letting me go would be a major error for this company."  
"I agree," Moira replied gently folding the file on her desk closed, "which is why you're not being fired."

_Shit_. If she wasn't going to fire her before.  
"Oh, I assumed when you brought me up here it was because…," she lingered on the last word before pretending to garrotte herself with her thumb, an overly expressive sound effect accompanying the gesture.

"It's because I wanted you to look into this," Moira said as she pushed a small black case the size of a mobile phone across her desk.  
"What is this?" Felicity asked curiously as she collected the case without reservation, her intrepid nature urging her on.  
"That's what I'm hoping you can tell me," Moira sighed, glancing her eyes back towards a photo that sat on her desk, Felicity didn't need to see it in that moment to know what it was – it was the same photo that had sat on the CEO's desk for the last 4 years, a photo of Moira's late husband and son.

"About a year after the Gambit sunk, I hired professional salvages to bring it back to me, I thought back then it would bring me some sort of peace. It has taken this long but about six months ago they finally delivered it," she sighed as she ran a slow, trembling finger across her neatly groomed eyebrow. "I needed to rest at night knowing I had done everything I could."  
Felicity nodded slowly as she hovered between feet, unsure whether she should stay standing or sit down without an invitation.

"I've had people combing through the wreckage trying to find out what happened and all they could tell me was they didn't know, they couldn't tell," she paused, her painted red lips pulled tightly, "until they found that."

Moira nodded down to the case in Felicity's grasp.  
"I'm told the data chips and the fragments of the ship's computer navigation system are useless, broken beyond repair."  
"But you don't believe them?"  
Moira looked up, her brows softening and her chin lightly dipping to the side.  
"I'm a woman that runs a multi-billion dollar company, I firmly believing in testing what people say is impossible, and that's where you come in."

"Me?" Felicity asked, a little more timidly than she would have like to portray in front of this strong-willed woman.  
"They tell me you are the best."  
"Thank you." Felicity smiled awkwardly, she hadn't expected a compliment of that nature when she had fumed her way into the office minutes before. "But I'm not sure what I can do."

"Just look, tell me if there is anything there, any reason why I lost both my husband and my son that day? Let me close the book on this," she resonated. "Finally," she added in a soft whisper.

"I'll see what I can do."  
Moira thanked her without words.  
"I'm your girl," Felicity said as she backed away slowly, counting the steps in her head towards the door.

"I mean, I'm not your girl-girl, I wasn't making a pass at you," she sighed, her face screwing up for a moment when Moira simply nodded. "Thank you for not firing me."

**/one month later**

For the second time in a few weeks Felicity found herself in that same corner office on the 45th floor with 10pm looming and the City provide a curtain of glimmering lights outside the glass walls, with Moira Queen patiently waiting on what she was about to say.

"So I looked into it, and there wasn't much to find," Felicity started her hands gesturing nervously from side to side.  
"Well thank you Ms Smoak, I…," Moira started.  
"Wait," Felicity interrupted, thrusting an arm somewhat awkwardly into the air, "I said not much, I didn't say _nothing."_

"You found something?" Moira asked, an eyebrow perching higher on her forehead.  
"The Gambit's navigation system was interlinked with the GSP trackers in the life boats, the radius isn't that great and I can't get exact bearings because apparently that sort of information was judged unnecessary for the recording to keep so it dumped most of it but I found a cache that…,"

Moira held a regal hand up, her other hand tapping a pen slowly to her forehead. "I'm sorry Felicity you lost me, do you think you could just tell me the end?"  
"Right, sorry," Felicity said as she took a breath and a moment to compose herself.  
Moira smiled, bleakly, the long day and fluttering hope still entrenched in her heart was making this almost unbearable.

"One of the lifeboats was activated."  
"Meaning?"  
"Someone turned it on. Mrs Queen, at least one person got off that boat before it sunk, alive and coherent enough to turn on the tracker."

"But they looked and they never found anything."  
"I tracked where the coastguard looked, I studied the weather patterns, and I had a friend of mine look into the currents and," Felicity paused to catch her breath, slowing her racing heart, "I think they looked the wrong way."

She unfolded the map tucked under her arm and Moira stood in response, leaning over the desk to study the same.

"They searched, here, here, and along here," Felicity said, drawing her midnight blue nail across the red line that she had drawn. "They should have looked here" she lifted her finger and placed it back down in the middle of a green circle. "Most of it is open-ocean and we won't find anything out there after this much time, but this," she tapped on a cluster of small islands in the middle of the green space, "this might be something."

"You think the life boat could be on that island?" Moira enquired, trying her best to keep her voice level and collected, but the shudder in her heart was difficult to ignore.  
Felicity plucked her lip from between her teeth and nodded. "I think it's worth looking."

Moira stepped back, one arm wrapped around her slender waist, the other tapping the pen she still held against her sensible grey-pencil skirt. "Have you told anyone else about this?"  
"No, I mean my friend the meteorologist, but he didn't know why," Felicity remarked with an off-handed shrug.

She watched as Moira took another lap of the corner area of her office, her shoes making soft tapping noises against the opulent marble floor as she walked.  
"Mrs Queen, I really think you should look here, send an army."  
"I can't," Moira sighed heavily.  
"Why?"

Moira's lips closed tightly, there was more to this than she was telling the young, curious IT girl, but she wasn't sure if they were nothing more than musing of an idle mind; that or she was too scared to utter the words herself; so she opted for something close to the truth.

"I'm afraid that the media will pick up on that, then Thea will get her hopes up only for us to find nothing. Thank you for your help Ms Smoak."  
"So you're going to do nothing?"  
"You've done an exceptional job Felicity." There was a definite sadness in her strained and deflated voice that didn't go unnoticed by the younger woman. "But I can't live on false hopes, and I won't start that media circus again where my husband and son are vilified on the daily news."  
Felicity cringed, she hadn't been in Starling City when the tragedy has struck, but even as far away as Boston, she had seen the way the playboy was maligned by the media and the whispers of the late Mr Queen's infidelity no doubt still bore scars of their own.  
"So don't" Felicity remarked, drawing out the 't' as she walked around the corner of the desk, her fingers tapping ritualistically along the lip of it. "I'll go."

Moira looked up, perplexed by the offer.  
"If I can fly close around this area and if the tracker is still active, I might be able to pick something up, bring back some proof." It was a long shot, but she really did hate mysteries and this one was itching to be solved.  
"Discretely?"  
Felicity nodded assuredly.

"Take whatever resources you need, I'll fly you to China under the guise of visiting our sister company out there," Moira began, the cogs turning in her head. This could work.  
"A Gavin would be good," Felicity quipped  
The matriarch's eye twitched in confusion. "I'm sorry?"  
"Gavin, in the electronics division, a second set of hands would be useful and he speaks Mandarin," Felicity replied as she straightened her skirt and toyed with the lanyard around her neck.

"Then you'll have a Gavin," Moira agreed. "But please, don't call attention to this."  
"Scouts' honour," Felicity said as she saluted awkwardly. "Not that I'm a scout, or that they salute like that," she paused, closing her eyes briefly. "I will just…," she pointed back towards the door, "…leave now."

"Ms Smoak?" Moira called, causing Felicity to turn on her heels just as she reached for the door. "Thank you" Moira added genuinely.  
"For what? I haven't found anything all that useful yet," Felicity commented with a kind smile.  
"For hope."

Felicity bobbed her head in recognition before she slipped from the office. She was going to the North China Sea to look for a four year old life boat in the hopes it could tell her what happened all those years ago.

**/four years ago: North China Sea**

Oliver poured another glass of wine, his fourth that evening, careful not to spill any as the launch rocked in the turbulent sea. The cocaine coursing through his veins had him buzzing as he took another gulp of the vintage wine, stolen from his parents' cellar the week before. He kicked her clothes across the floor towards the fixed, oak drawers. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain this, and he was not so stupid to assume the truth wouldn't make itself abundantly clear once they returned to Starling in a few weeks.

But, he didn't care.  
Or at least that's what he tried to convince himself as he did another line of the powdery drug off the mirror he pulled from the wall.

_Fuck it._

Sara appeared from the bathroom, her body wrapped in sinful lingerie and her eyes wide like his own. Pearls dripped from her neck; they had been a present meant for someone else, but perhaps that was part of the allure.

He handed her a glass of wine as she strode across the polished wood towards him.

_Fuck it._

A wave crashed against the side of the Gambit, sending both of them stumbling towards the bed with drug-infused laughter.

"She's going to be pissed," Sara purred as she flopped down onto the bed, her arms spread above her head.  
"Maybe she won't find out," he answered with a flippant shrug and a coy smirk.

Another wave shook the cabin, more forceful that the others that had hammered against it all night.

"Relaxed," he cooed as he noted the fear trapped in her eyes.

But her answer was lost in a flood of noise, a creak, a bang, the sound of splintering wood and twisting metal.

Then darkness.  
Absolute darkness.

**/present day**

Oliver sat upright, his body drenched in a cold sweat, his brain drilled with the images of water encasing her; deep, dark, and foreboding. Death.

So much death.

The sun was already high despite the early hour and he knew, again that sleep – or at least the restful kind – would evade him once more.

In fact, Oliver hadn't slept a restful night in the past four years since that fateful one, and nothing he'd done since had ever atoned enough for him to believe he ever would.

This was life now.  
Stuck between life and death.

Somewhere in purgatory.

As he was pulling on his worn and damaged clothes he heard a sound that he'd spent years imagining; the blades of a helicopter ripping through the air overhead.

He smiled wearily at himself, perhaps a small part of him still believed that might happen.

Only, the noise got louder and closer.

He ran from the place he called home and his eyes darted straight up into the clear and pleasant sky; just in time to see the image of a helicopter driving through the air on the far side of the island.

His chest tightened.  
That could only mean one thing.

The amber flames a second later lit the sky up nearly florescent. An inferno of flames trailed behind the machine as it began to drop in altitude and spin.

Oliver grabbed what he needed and ran into the thick forest, into the consuming depths of purgatory.

**/**

_Brace for impact._

Felicity prepared herself as best she could. But, her search for hope wasn't supposed to end like this.


	2. Fallout

Her eyes were closed tightly, to the point where they ached with the type of tension that kept her entire body rigid. But, no matter how hard she tried, Felicity couldn't block out the rest of the assaults on her other four senses; hearing, smell, taste, and touch.

_Hear_; she couldn't block out the high-pitched screech of twisting metal, or the sudden and deafening crack of the door on the other side of the fuselage sheering clear off its hinges. Each second filled her brain with more destructive sounds that would inevitably embed in her subconscious, and Felicity feared a time where she would only ever hear the shrieking sounds of the alarms emanating from the cockpit, or the hollow and panicked screams of Gavin beside her.

_Touch;_ the moment the door splintered from the helicopter, bitingly cold air whipped against the side of Felicity's face. It was tortuous, painful, and marked her ivory skin with violent streaks of scarlet. She could feel the throb of her fingers, void of blood flow, as she gripped the edge of her seat; knowing she couldn't let go even if she had tried.

_Smell;_ the air was rancid with the choking stench of petrol and the creeping odour of scolding metal. It permeated every breath Felicity took and when she gasped her lungs filled with the acidy taste that burned down her throat.

This was how she was going to die.  
But she found no comfort in that knowledge, no quiet serenity that she could make her peace with. There was no calming acceptance; only screaming, and flames, and pain she hadn't even begun to truly experience.

She was scared.  
Felicity didn't want to die scared.

She opened her eyes, forcing them to look and to acknowledge what was happening, in some faint hope that maybe then the peace of acceptance would wash over her. That perhaps then it all wouldn't seem so damningly nightmarish.

But it still didn't come; all that came was the horrors of seeing the ground coming closer and the trees whizzing past in violent streaks of green and brown. Flashes of bright and popping orange blinded her for a moment and she knew that it was flames from the tail boom inching ever closer to completely consuming them.

She only hoped death would come before the fire did; she didn't like the fire.  
She didn't want to die that way.

_Thud, thud, thud_, the sound of the undercarriage slapping against the tops of the trees made the floor shudder beneath her feet. It shook the luggage free from its netting behind them and she watched helpless as her suitcase, and then Gavin's were lost to the forest.

The equipment she had so carefully packed and checked, and 'geeked out' over, in their tough grey boxes were next. The smaller one disappeared out the gaping hole first when the helicopter jolted and spiralled like a spinning top, but it didn't go without its own trauma as she slammed into the side of Gavin's head leaving behind a savage and ragged gash.

The larger of the two slid forward and jammed between their seats with shredded rope twisted around it

Another _smack_ against the crumpled aluminium underside, another tree no doubt, and Felicity watched as her colleague's chair shunted forward with the blow. He was looking at her, suddenly aware of his own mortality; he was afraid, but a certain sort of serenity filled his eyes.

He'd found what Felicity still hadn't.

The weighty case pushed relentlessly against the damaged chair and when an explosion severed the tail from the body, the helicopter dropped, suddenly and violently; and that was all it needed to break free, taking his chair with it. Felicity reached for him, but they both knew it was futile.

Without the tail or the stabilisers, the helicopter's decent was in an uncontrollable spin. The vortex downward made it impossible for Felicity to keep her eyes open and they slammed shut. When she managed to pry them open out of sheer willpower, one last time in the freefall, she saw that the other side of the cabin was completely empty.

That was the last thing Felicity saw before the chopper flipped and something cracked across the back of her head, rendering her unconscious.

**/**

The helicopter hit the ground with so much force the rotor blades were severed and what was left of the back airframe was sliced clean off. It came to its final resting place upside down and half-submerged near the muddy banks of a watery grave.

The pungent smell of gasoline leaching into a murky bog filled with silt and sludge shook Felicity awake and with a sudden, startling gasp and a silent, hoarse scream, she awoke, bruised, bleeding, and damp.

The putrid water lapped just above her head as the splintered metal around her creaked in the hollow silence. She opened her mouth to scream again, but nothing more than a fractured bleat was all she could muster.

The water began to close in on her as she finally recognised the frightening truth; she wasn't dead, but if she stayed hanging upside down above an ever-encroaching tide of water... she soon would be.

Felicity didn't want to die like that either.

She squinted into the murky fog, now aware that she had lost her glasses somewhere. She had another pair in her knapsack and she wasn't that blind. A useless thought circled her head about the contact lenses she had packed too, but how they were in her suitcase... the one she had seen disappearing into thin air.

_Like Gavin._

Felicity held back her desire to cry; she could do that later. For now she needed to live, and that meant getting out of that seat and out of the very imminent risk of drowning.

She grazed her fingertips raw fighting with the polyester straps of her seatbelt, but they weren't shifting. They were locked tight against her shoulders and even tighter across her likely-broken ribs.

She felt the blood gushing to her head, making it throb like the heavy footsteps of an elephant stampede. She shook her head, one side to the other, in search of anything that could assist when she saw her knapsack swinging like a pendulum barely above the water just ahead of her.

Every inch of her screamed in pain as she reached out for the nearest strap. The pain made her faint, but she didn't stop and she didn't allow a single tear to distort her focus until she finally, finally, wrapped her fingers around the canvas strap.

With a tug that shuddered down her spine, Felicity pulled her bag loose and clutched it tightly to her heaving chest.

With carefully considered foresight, Felicity had packed a Swiss Army knife that her mother had given her, _thank god_, and when she found it exactly where she had placed it; in the small front pocket, she began to sob happily while she held it in a protective vice grip.

She looked at the dirty water and smelled its petrol-tainted fumes; there was no other way. Putting knife to polyester Felicity began to cut herself loose. As the fibres on the seatbelt strap parted she readied herself for the inevitable; she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

The water felt like ice and it took every bit of control Felicity could muster not to gasp and fill her mouth with sludge the moment she hit it. She fought her way up and when her head broke free from the stale water she finally allowed herself the chance to breathe.

Debris and _god only knows_ what, brushed against her legs, making Felicity instantly regret her wardrobe choice that day; tan shorts that covered only a few inches of thigh. She carefully lowered her feet and discovered that it was shallow enough for her to stand with her shoulders above the water.

Felicity found her bag where she had hung it to keep it dry, and held it carefully away from the water as she began to wade free from the wreckage. She found the pilot, unconscious and dangerously close to the rising water level, strapped to his seat, much like she had been.

"Hey guy, I need you to wake up," she spoke loudly near his head. He stirred, but didn't rouse completely until she said it a second time and shook his shoulder roughly.

He woke with a start and blinked at her like he wasn't sure where he was; she didn't blame him because it felt surreal to her too.

"The helicopter is sinking, we need to get you out," she spoke clearly as she remembered that while his English had been fair, it was still a second language.  
He nodded with a tremble as she handed him the Swiss army knife. He knew what to do with it and cut himself loose without much trouble. He went into the water with a splash that caught the side of Felicity's face, but she was already drenched so it hardly mattered. He found a first aid kit under his seat and another small, plastic case which he took with him.

They waded to the bank and he clambered out first before offering Felicity a hand up. When she was finally on the ground she slumped down and the shock finally hit. She could feel her heart thumping rapidly against her chest and she could feel her lungs being suffocated; but she couldn't seem to breathe.

Her whole body was shaking like a cheap, pay by the hour, hotel bed as she pawed desperately at her throat.

_What had happened?_  
One minute they were scanning the island; she was giddy with excitement when the signal lit up on the screen in her hands. She had been right. Gavin had congratulated her, and asked her to remember him when she was "upstairs in a fancy office". Felicity had laughed and was half way through joking that he could be her assistant when…

Something grey broke through a cloud just ahead of them; like a bird she remembered thinking, casually shrugging in the assumption that the pilot would move to avoid it. Maybe he had? She couldn't remember, but the next thing was smoke and flames and screams and... _death._

"What happened?" The words shook, thin and splintered, from her mouth.  
The pilot's eyes were wide and wild and his head was moving vigorously from side to side. "Cursed. Shouldn't have come here," he stuttered in broken English.  
"What happened?" Felicity asked again, stuck on a loop of conscious thought as she rocked back and forth. _Had they hit the bird? Why hadn't he moved?_

"Zǔzhòu, Zǔzhòu,*" he repeated before he stood up and started towards an overgrown track, heading away from the crash.  
She caught him by the wrist to stop him; they needed to go the other way, towards the equipment they had lost because it had a beacon.  
"This way. They can find us," she urged but he pushed her back and continued in the opposite direction.  
She looked back towards the trail of carnage; snapped trees and scattered metal debris, surely she could follow it... it seemed the better option over wildly heading in any direction.  
"Please, back this way," she continued.  
He shook his head and pointed to a jagged mountain range in the distance. "There, I go there."  
"Find the case, then we can go up," Felicity answered in simple English.  
"You go," he jutted an impertinent finger towards the direction Felicity wanted to go. "I go," his finger moved and stabbed towards the mountain.  
"We should stay together," Felicity remarked; after all that was just common sense right?  
"No, you curse, you go," he jabbed his finger at her and then at the path of destruction.

Then that was that.  
He walked with purpose towards the edge of the clearing and while Felicity contemplated what she should do, he disappeared into the jungle,  
"Shit, fuck, shit," she mumbled as her head to and fro-d between the opposite directions. _The case could wait, they should stick together,_ she decided.  
"Wait up, we'll go together," Felicity called out ahead of her before she too was swallowed up by the wild growth.

She could see him passing through the trees just ahead of her, savagely slapping the vines away as he walked. Monkeys made a ruckus above them and the rest of the jungle woke to the noisy intrusion.

He turned to see her and, both infuriated and possibly frightened, he threw the first aid kit towards her, perhaps in an effort to send her scuttling away.

"Zǔzhòu, Zǔzhòu," he repeated.  
It was fairly apparent to Felicity, even with the language barrier, that he thought her and this little expedition had cursed him to this place.  
She stopped walking and huffed loudly. _This was ridiculous, they had just survived a plane crash and the insufferable man was throwing a first aid kit at her!_

She was no idiot, nor was she completely helpless. In fact Felicity wagered she knew more about this island than the pilot currently hacking his way through the undergrowth. In fact she had spent the last two weeks scouting out information on this place wherever the whisper of it took her; including that opium den she was definitely not writing home about.

People didn't come here and whenever she pointed it out on the map it came with a cautious eye and most walked away muttering something under their breaths. When they did offer information it was shrouded in urban legend and inevitably came with a warning that she should stay clear of the place; which only made Felicity more determined.

She had carefully filtered through every shred of information and compiled a notebook of what she knew; one of those threads of evidence which repeated itself over and over, and was confirmed by the captain of the vessel that brought them as close as he would venture; was that ships only travelled along the northern coast, they never ventured to the south, east, or west. Only the north; which was the opposite way the pilot was heading.

Felicity pulled the compass and her notebook from her knapsack and checked her initial conclusion; he was heading the wrong way and mountain or not, no one was going to see him there.

Despite the fact he hadn't thanked her for rousing him before he drowned and giving him the means to cut himself down, she did feel a little guilty that he was here on her request (and the envelope full of cash Moira had wired the day before they'd set off). So she couldn't just leave him, at least not without trying one last time.

Felicity found the pilot in a small clearing where the dense bush evolved into large trees that appeared to touch the clouds above them. He was standing still with his back to her and his shoulders slumped forward.

"If you could just see," she started, flailing her notebook with every shred of information she had collected in front of her as she talked.  
He turned slowly on the spot and the fear in his eyes was apparent even over the distance between them. With a trembling finger he pointed down to one of his feet but Felicity didn't understand; she couldn't see what lay beneath his muddy boot.

The next second the world around Felicity was engulfed in a burst of vibrant orange. She never felt the tendrils of flames as they licked towards her, as all she knew was the searing force that lifted her feet from the ground and sent her flying backwards at least five feet.

Dazed, on her back and starring up at the clouds as they moved jauntily across the near-perfect sky, Felicity saw a blurry figure swinging from the trees as a chorus of monkey sounds faded behind the ringing in her ears.

It was too much.  
All too much.

_Get up Felicity_, she screamed to herself.  
But she didn't; she couldn't.

As if resigned to her fate, Felicity's eyes grew heavy and her breath became shallow and laboured.

This was it.

With one last glimpse skyward and one last trick of her mind, Felicity swore she saw a face looking down at her.

Maybe that was the face everyone saw before they died.

Her eyes closed; swallowed into darkness.

**/**

The sand was warm between her toes as she lay, basking in the balminess of the tropical Florida sun. It wasn't exactly Aruba or Catalina, but she would take it all the same. The idyllic scent of coconut and rum tickled her nose as a large, frosty glass appeared magically in her hands.

She licked her lips, tasting the cherry lip gloss as she eyed up the decadent cocktail she didn't remember ordering.

But no matter, it was here now and she would enjoy it.

She set her eyes across the empty beach, relishing in the quiet solace of it as she breathed in the salty air, the drink still fresh and new in her hand.

But in another instant she was aboard a sailing ship moving through the calm, turquoise waters of a place she couldn't quite pinpoint. The sun was fading into the horizon and leaving behind a magnificent artwork of cosy reds and vivid pinks in the sky.

All she felt was at peace as the soft linen wrap she wore around her shoulders dropped on one side. Arms wrapped around her waist and while they surprised her at first, Felicity wasn't afraid, and a few lazy moments later she was relaxed against the chest of someone whose face was hidden from her.

But no matter, she felt safe and that was enough.

Quizzically her conscious began to rouse, as the scene repeated itself and her drink never emptied.

_Shit_ she was dreaming.  
You wake up from dreams.

As the dream faded and Felicity began to rouse, the setting sun became the flames of a wooden fire licking upwards in front of her. The arms she'd found safety and warmth in was a space blanket tucked tightly around her shivering body, and finally, the salt which she had tasted on the gentle breeze was nothing more than her own dry and cracked lips.

Her eyes floated open, blinking her surroundings into view. She was in some sort of room where bowed walls that curved inward were invaded by creeping vines which twisted around the bare metal and flaky white paint. The air smelled rusty and metallic, but when she breathed deeper the soot in the air made her cough.

She tried to move but her body was spent, and she could only muster the slight wiggle of her toes. Tentatively, Felicity eyes began to rove around the room, still unsure what exactly it was that she was looking at, until she stopped on a shadowy figure sitting on the other side of the cracking fire.

His shoulders were wide, impressively and imposingly so, and despite being seated, Felicity assumed he was just as commandingly tall. Long hair twisted in tendrils over his shoulders and an untamed beard hid the bottom half of his face. He wore a green shirt that looked almost tactical, or Army-issued. It was frayed at the edges and torn around the neck.

His head was hung low, his gaze focused downward, and between the wicks of flames, Felicity could see a long, curved knife clutched in one hand and a snapped tree branch in the other. Systematically he skimmed the blade over the tip of the branch and turned it in his hand after each stroke; tapering the end into a point.

She steadied her breathing and kept as still as she could while she scanned the area around her for either an exit or a weapon; an exit was preferable. She saw an opening a few feet away, but it would mean being on his side of whatever they were in, and she had hoped to keep her distance; however it didn't look like that was an option she was fortunate enough to have the privilege of.

She closed her eyes and tried to sooth the thrumming of her heart and she willed herself to move while the stranger didn't know she was awake.

But before she could, he spoke.  
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice was deep and gruff and he never bothered to look up from his tiresome work.  
There was no way she was getting past him without the element of surprise. "Looking for someone," she answered shortly, careful not to give away the dread in her voice.  
"No one lives here," he grumbled and a smile snuck on her lips before she could contain it.  
"You live here," she replied, somewhat sarcastically.  
He looked up, wordlessly studying her with his shadowed eyes.

After a few eerily silent moments, he spoke again. "You shouldn't have come here."  
"I'm looking for Oliver Queen," Felicity said as she slowly attempted to sit up with her palm pressed to her throbbing forehead.  
His eyes were anchored on her, making her spine shudder. His face was shrouded in the shadows of the thick night as he sat on the very fringes of the fire's light. But still, Felicity sought to make out more of his guarded features; a strong jaw even beneath the unkempt beard, eyes that frowned without the ravages of time settling in the corners, and hands that trembled ever so slightly, as though she'd spoken the name of a ghost.  
"Oliver Queen is dead," he answered, his voice was heavy and emotionless. Practiced.

Felicity inhaled a silent gasp, tinges of the gritty air peppering her tongue.

He looked down and returned to his task, but she wasn't done just yet.

"How do you know he's dead?" she asked, pulling his attention upwards again.  
The question hung, unanswered, in the smoky air between them before he set down both the blade and the stick.

Felicity tensed, thinking for a moment that he would make his way towards her, but he didn't; he stayed seated and stoic and he spoke his next three words with a guarded sorrow.  
"I killed him."

**AN: This story is being uploaded on AO3 too (and is a few chapters ahead over there). User Vixx2poinOh.**


	3. Nameless

**/five hours prior**

The burst was sudden and blinding and all he could do was watch as the landmine detonated. The sound echoed like a clap of thunder across the sky, loud and obnoxious, and with the day unusually calm and the breeze at his back, he knew it would only be a matter of time before someone came to investigate the scraps.

What was left of the man and anything he carried would be a treat for the scavengers, both the ones on four feet and two.

And then there was her.

Her body lay crumpled in the dirt, her shoes were missing and her golden hair was matted and twisted with dander from the forest floor. Her skin was dirty and bloodied, as she lay there, still and splintered like a rag doll.

He batted Ben from his shoulder and the curious macaque monkey made his protest loud as a few of his social group swung from the surrounding trees.

He dropped down from the tree and landed, sure-footed on the mossy floor. He watched her from afar for a few moments before he crept forward. Ben followed near his feet and he didn't try to stop him.

When he reached the girl, his eyes started at her feet; they were narrow and dainty and the nails had been, not all that long ago, painted a bright pink. The kind of pink that didn't belong in this place of darkness. Her legs were slender, but not thin; they were bare and grazed and her knees looked bruised even through the dirt that stained them. The shorts she wore may have once been a crisp beige, but they now looked like the sludgy colour of the bog she had waded through.

He had watched her then too, keeping a distance and hiding where people never thought to look – up. He had arrived just as she was trying to rouse the pilot and he'd watched in trained silence as the pilot had berated her, despite her helping him, and left her alone in a strange place where, at any given time, probably 10 things had the ability to kill you. He considered himself one of those things.

He'd felt a surge of anger watching the man leave, but then – after what looked like an argument with herself – she took off into the forest after him.

He hadn't followed straight away, hanging back for a few moments to get a closer look at the charred remains of the helicopter; the scorch marks flaming out from the where the tail had once connected to the body was evidence enough of the collision he'd seen in the sky.

She had been lucky.  
They had missed.

But beyond the face of it, he couldn't decide if that actually was luck. After all, she'd ended up here. That was hardly lucky.

After climbing back into the safety of the tree canopy he'd easily caught up to them. He'd seen the heated exchange between the two and he'd heard it too; it had been hard to miss in the echoing valley.

He'd seen the moment the pilot's foot touched the landmine and his immediate attention turned to the woman a stone's throw away. He'd wrapped his arm around the thickest vine, tugging it briefly to confirm it would hold his weight as he quickly considered hers; probably no more than 120.

But the explosion came sooner than he had anticipated and she was thrown back, leading him to where he was now; standing over her still body.

After taking another step forward he noted her soft features, her eyes were cracked open for only a moment before they fell shut. Dried blood melded with the fresh wound across her forehead that would most certainly go septic if it wasn't cleaned soon. Her lips were scarlet and swollen, and in the centre she wore two indents that looked like teeth marks.

The scent in the air made his shoulders stiffen and his jaw tighten and when he inched closer, his face only a hand-span away from her, his nostrils filled with the vanilla-infused musk. He wet his dry lips before he turned his head to check the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Warm, discarded air from her mouth brushed against the smooth apple of his cheek.

It had been so long.  
So long since people.

His eyes moved to her arm, bent and twisted at her side. It looked dislocated, but he couldn't be sure. He offered a silent apology with his eyes, knowing that once she was awake, putting it back was going to be excruciating.

The stillness in the valley gave way to a distant, but encroaching, sound of rumbling; they were coming. He threw the two small cases scattered around her into the knapsack she had been holding before he picked her up easily. Her limp head nestled into his broad chest while her legs dangled over the edge of his forearm.

He moved faster above ground, but he knew there was no way she could make the journey and he wouldn't risk hurting her arm any more than it already was. He would have to take the network.

Ben followed him to one of the mouths of the cave system that ran like mole tunnels underneath the island, but the anxious creature dared not step any closer to the looming shadow. The animals on the island had more sense than to venture into its deep and dark chasms.

Once the shadows swallowed both him and the girl he carried, near lifeless in his arms, he turned back and saw his monkey convoy disappearing into the forest canopy, travelling the opposite direction than they ought.

He smiled, though no one was around – or at least conscious – to see it; they were buying him a head start.

**/two hours later**

It had taken him much longer than it ordinarily would, but carrying any amount of dead weight was bound to slow him down; and that was to say nothing of the uneven ground or travelling the thick black corridors by way of a tiny beam of light from a torch he'd found in one of the cases, and his memory.

He stopped often, placing her carefully onto the ground each time while he double checked his bearings, ensured they weren't followed (by erasing any tracks he'd left), and checking the path ahead of them was clear.

Each time he'd returned to her she was still unconscious, but breathing. A few times she seemed to rouse a little, but never more than a quiet moan or to nuzzle her head against his chest.

When he finally emerged into the broad daylight, she was cold to the touch and her breathing was intermittent and shallow. He carried her the rest of the distance, near-about 2 miles, without stopping just as the sun began its decent towards sunset.

Over the course of the next three hours, he kept her warm and listened to the occasional mumble as she slept while her breathing returned to normal and her skin warmed.

**/present**

Felicity's palm grappled with her forehead as the sudden sway of the room forced her body to slump back down onto the tiny camp stretcher, akin to a military sleeping cot. "Where is my pilot, what happened?" she asked as the back of her eyes felt like tiny fire storms raging in her brain. "I don't remember."  
Instinctively she wrapped her arms around her stomach and winced silently at the pain that shuddered down her body. That was right, she was fairly certain she'd broken a rib.

"He's dead," the stranger replied before he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. With another stretch of silence he went back to the task of carving the end of a stick into a point. "Everyone dies here."

"Did you kill him too?" Felicity gulped with a hollow dread she couldn't disguise.  
The knife dragged across the stick and the shaving fell to the floor. "No, a World War two landmine did," he answered calmly. Felicity winced; the heat and the smell, she remembered them both. The stoic man kept his head down and his shoulders stiff as he grazed off another strip of bark. "Nearly almost killed you too," he added with the tone of an angered parent.

Felicity shuffled in the cot, enough to make a burst of pain slap her body, but she swallowed her scream and kept her eyes on the stranger.  
"Why did you kill him? Why did you kill Oliver?" she asked pointedly; if she was going to die at the hands of some maniac in the jungle then she might as well know all the sordid truth before she did.

But the air lapsed into silence when he didn't answer her; but for the methodical sound of the steel scraping wood. Felicity was just about to ask the questions a second time when he finally answered her with a low and raspy, "I had to." He paused as he leaned over a pot that boiled above the fire. Felicity hadn't even noticed it there at first glance; in fact she hadn't noticed there was also a makeshift bench, built from salvaged scraps with a rusted bucket as a sink just across the way too.

Before her eyes could scout out more of the makeshift abode, the man's raspy, intrinsically deep and absorbing voice drew her attention. "People like Oliver Queen don't survive here."

He glanced up for just a moment, but his face was unreadable, and all Felicity could wonder was whether she was 'people like Oliver Queen'.

"What's your name?" she asked as she tried, yet again, to sit up.  
His brow twitched as he watched her cautiously. In fact he watched her so closely that the blade and the stick never met again. "I don't have one," he answered huskily.  
Felicity felt lightheaded as she slid one foot onto the floor. "Everyone has a name," she remarked before she patted her dry lips together and tried to focus on the floor in the hopes it might stop spinning.

She didn't even notice the man was on his feet when he replied to her. "You don't need a name in purgatory."  
She glanced up, as a sudden and dizzying feeling washed over her and sent her almost toppling off the cot. It was only for his arm bracing her chest that she didn't end up with a face full of dirt.

Startled with how quickly and silently he had moved, Felicity let out a fearful whimper as her eyes closed; preparing for the worst.

"Careful, you've got a nasty gash on your head," he spoke near her ear. While his voice was still deep, it carried with it a softness in his tone that stripped away the tension down her jaw.

Her fingers danced across her forehead, it was sticky and bumpy, perhaps even a little slimy; it certainly didn't feel like her skin. "What's on it?" she asked with a slight slur in her words.  
He sat her back and only moved from beside her when her shoulders were pressed to the back wall to keep her steady.  
"Tree sap, herbs, mud. It should stop it from getting infected, if it isn't already," he commented dryly.  
"Aren't you the life of the party," she sighed as she attempted to lift her other arm to touch the dull ache across her ribs.

But her fingers were numb and her shoulder was stiff, and when she attempted to force it to move the few inches it came with an excruciating burst of pain.  
"Can you move your fingers?" he grunted over the lip of the trunk he'd cracked open at the foot of her bed.  
Wearily she moved them, and while she got very little sensation out of them she could move them well enough.

He offered her a flask that permeated the air with the potent smell of alcohol. Not the kind that you ordered at a cute cocktail bar, but the kind you cleaned grease off floors with. Felicity spluttered as she shook her head.

"No thank you."  
Still he held it out. "You're going to want to take a drink."  
She noted the slight twist of a smug smile, but it was hidden beneath his untamed beard. "No thank you," she repeated, more brusquely than the first. "I'm fine."  
When he still didn't retract the stainless-steel flask, Felicity pushed it back herself. Or at least attempted to.  
"I have to re-set your shoulder, take a drink," he spoke. His tone wasn't harsh or loud, but with everything else going on it did make Felicity startle, which in turn reminded her of the stiff pain down her left shoulder.

She took the flask from his hand and, satisfied, the man stood up and closed the trunk with a rattled thud.  
"What do you mean re-set it?" she asked dubiously as she passed the flask slowly under her nose and choked back the fumes.  
"I'm going to push your shoulder all the way back into the socket," he advised as he knelt down beside her.  
Felicity nodded as she took her first swig. It was ghastly and the back of her throat burned when the liquid ran down it. But despite that, when his hand pushed up the sleeve of her torn and stained tee, Felicity took a second swig, and then a third. "Is this for the pain?" she asked as she choked back her fourth drink.

He didn't answer as his thick and rough fingers grazed down her soft arm. With a surprisingly gentleness he held her elbow with both hands before applying traction away from her arm. Only using one hand Felicity took another drink, and she very almost enjoyed the tingled burn that followed down the back of her throat.

He took one hand off her elbow and gently placed it on her wrist where his long, thick digits swamped her svelte arm. Dirt and dried blood were set into the creases of his knuckles and they were hands that were calloused and weathered, and yet they were being surprisingly gentle. He moved her arm slowly and smoothly to rotate her elbow until Felicity flinched in pain.

"Do you have any pets?" he asked randomly and Felicity studied him momentarily over the edge of the flask while she took another drink.

As she opened her mouth to answer, he pushed in on her shoulder as he lifted her at the elbow. The pain was sharp and sudden and Felicity let out a scream that echoed around the still night as she slumped forward in a deep sob. But the throb subsided and the tingle in her fingers slowly receded.

"Thank you," Felicity said as he rose off the ground and dusted the dirt from the knees of his hunter green pants. It was a move that seemed more instinctive than necessary; the pants were torn at the hem of each leg and the colour was barely recognisable under what could have been years of dirt.

He acknowledge her thank you with no more than a small nod as he made his way back over to the trunk. He returned with what looked like a torn bed sheet, it might have once been white, but it was now a dreary-grey colour.

"You need to keep it still." There was very little warmth in his voice, he certainly didn't have the bedside manner of a doctor, but there was also no malice in it either.

He moved quickly to fold the impromptu sling around her arm. She leaned forward and grasped her hair to one side as he pulled the tails of the sling up around her neck. His breath was warm against her skin and without thinking he blew slowly to move the tendrils of blonde hair that still covered her neck. It was decidedly intimate and Felicity felt a shiver down her spine while he double tied the ends and sat the knot at the base of her neck.

She never saw his face when he was done as he moved from her to the campfire.  
"Are you hungry?" he asked; the gruffness in his voice had returned.  
Felicity attempted to lean forward for a closer look but she was still feeling a little woozy and he silently glared at her until she settled her back against the wall once again.  
"What is it?" she asked.  
"Probably best you don't know, but it's edible," he remarked as he slopped a ladle of it into a metal bowl. "It's not your pilot if that's what you're worried about." He had said the words so straight faced that Felicity wasn't sure if he was attempting humour or not. Even when she took the bowl from his hand she wasn't sure.

It actually smelled pretty good and Felicity felt her stomach rumbling at the prospect of eating the something-akin-to-stew, but how she was supposed to eat it was another story altogether.

He muttered something under his breath which Felicity didn't catch before he strode over to the crafted-together bench. Above it was an overhead luggage bin which he opened with a punch to the centre. She couldn't see past his wide shoulders to see what was inside but he returned with a slightly tarnished silver spoon.

She said "Thank You," a second time and that one garnered a small grunt in response.

Felicity dug the spoon into the chunky stew and without giving it too much thought she took a mouthful while her stoic companion slumped down into what looked like an old pleather airplane seat. He had no utensils and ate with the bowl to his mouth and grunting noises emanated from behind it. The scene made Felicity smile, which in itself was a feat given the last however many hours of insanity that she'd survived, but it reminded her of a movie, an old favourite; Beauty and the Beast.

But, unlike the meal Belle and Beast shared, when he looked over the rim of the bowl and found her watching him, he made no attempt to stop.

Feeling his eyes on her, Felicity stopped watching and instead enjoyed the hot, and surprisingly tasty, mystery stew until she finished the entire bowl.

"More?" he grunted as he stood up. His height and stature were still incredibly imposing but Felicity no longer felt afraid by it. Logic said if he was going to kill her, she would be dead already, and if he was going to do something else it was fair to assume he wouldn't have cared to feed her first. Perhaps it was naive, but Felicity felt she could trust him.  
"I'm fine. But thank you," she replied as she tucked her feet under her body.

He nodded at the discarded silver blanket beside her. "You should keep warm, it gets pretty cold here during the night."  
Wordlessly Felicity tugged the blanket back over her body and tucked it around her legs and up under her chin, leaving just her good arm loose.

"What's this place?" Felicity asked as she squinted around the room. The fringes of it were still blurry and she was certain there was a lot she wasn't seeing.  
"An old plane wreckage," he commented without looking at her as he got himself a second helping.  
"Is this how you got here?"  
"No," he answered dryly. "This was here before me."  
"How did you get here?"  
He didn't answer immediately as he took a seat and devoured the second bowl exactly like he had with the first. "Shipwreck," he finally replied in a monotone grunt.  
There was no sense in beating around the bush, and there was one more question Felicity needed the answer to.

"Are you going to kill me too?"  
Her blunt question was enough to make him look up. She couldn't read his expression at that distance without her glasses but she did feel the heat in his gaze; not anger, but something.  
He stood up and took the bowl from beside her, carrying both of them to the sink. They clattered against the sides as he dropped them in. "Are you afraid I will?" he asked with his back to her.  
She studied what she could see, his shoulders while still massive, were slumped and his chin must have been dropped close to his chest as his head swayed forward.  
"I asked the question first," she retorted as the breath stilled in her throat. He very easily could kill her, of that she was certain.

He turned and for a moment Felicity thought the flickers of light caught the glassy reflections of tiny droplets of tears near his eyes, but she couldn't be sure and he moved before she had a chance to really study them. He pushed off from the bench and walked towards the trunk once again.  
"No, you don't need to be afraid of me, I'm not going to hurt you Felicity," he answered, and Felicity wondered if that was the most words he'd strung together so far.

But then something else, something far more important, stuck out. Her name; he knew it. "How do you know my name?" she asked with a wide-eyed expression frozen on her face.  
He reached to the side of the trunk and lifted up her knapsack. "I found this."

He threw it towards her and it landed quite perfectly, to the side of her lap. Felicity rummaged quickly through it and found her spare glasses, and with a sigh of relief she fed them immediately onto her face. Much of the room was still seeped in darkness, but the parts the light touched became so much clearer. There was little more to be seen but on the fringes of the light there was also an array of weapons on a table Felicity hadn't seen before. What was once the cockpit of the passenger plane was just ahead of them and there was no tail of the plane to be seen, just a draped fabric over a gaping hole where it should be. Felicity decided it had definitely been a passenger plane, probably one that carried a hundred or so passengers, which begged the question of what had happened to all of them?

But when she looked up to ask, the stranger was heading towards the open and crumbling end of the plane. He was leaving.  
"Where are you going?" she asked, a flash of panic in her voice.  
"You made quite an impact today, that won't go unnoticed," he grunted.  
"By who?"  
He looked back as he shifted the bow slung over his shoulder. "Stay here and you will be safe, if you leave I won't go looking for you. I suggest you stay here."  
His blunt words hung in the air for a few moments after he'd left, it was only then, alone, that Felicity finally allowed herself to cry.

With her knees tucked up to her chest and her head slumped onto them, Felicity cried into the weave of the blanket until she fell asleep, completely exhausted.

**/morning**

Felicity roused slowly with the first tendrils of light that were creeping towards her. She yawned as she sat up. Instinctively she touched a cautious finger to her forehead where she found the tacky gloop from the night before had mostly dried and flaked off. Her arm was still in a sling, but there was very little residual pain, only a stiffness that ran across her shoulder and fanned down through her shoulder blade.

She yawned a second time as she found her glasses where she had left them beside the bed. The fire had burned away to embers in the pit surrounded by a wall of large river stones. She stretched up her arm as her eyes moved around; she was alone. He hadn't returned.

As Felicity continued to look she was startled when she found a small monkey peering down at her from an overhead cabinet near her head.  
"Fuck," she yelped and the monkey squawked in response as he covered his eyes with his spindly fingers.  
Realising that the creature wasn't much larger than her forearm, Felicity leaned towards him.  
"I'm sorry, did I scare you?" she remarked as she reached out a finger. "You just gave me a fright is all," she continued as the primate peeked out from between his fingers.

"If you're looking for the caveman, I don't know where he is," she mumbled to herself as she took another look around. The monkey gibbered loud and excitedly before he jumped onto Felicity's shoulder and then scampered just as quickly down her body, onto her lap, and then onto the floor.  
"You're quite cute," she laughed as he tugged on her ankle.

Her bare feet hit the floor before she stood up slowly, and thankfully she found the swaying had subsided and she was relatively stable on her feet.

Stretched up on his hind legs, the monkey fisted Felicity's finger and pulled her sharply towards the exit as he chatted frantically.

It was as though he wanted her to follow.

"Do you want me to follow?" Felicity asked, despite the fact he wasn't exactly going to answer back.  
The chanting continued as he jumped up and down, screeching and pointing towards the way out.

Felicity padded towards where he pulled and she found her shoes neatly sat by the entrance. She slipped on her muddy shoes and surprisingly found them dry.

Felicity passed under the plastic sheeting which had been draped over the gaping hole where the back end of the plane had once been. It had been covered in mud and forest dander and felled branches were strew around it as if to camouflage it and blend it into the surroundings.

But there wasn't much time to study the finer points of it as her impatient companion dragged her towards the dense jungle just ahead. There were even more of the little talkers in the trees above, egging her forward until, for reasons she didn't stop to analyse, Felicity followed them into the wild jungle of tall trees and twisting vines.

She followed where he led, even when it seemed not to be the most direct route, like around the back of a tree rather than walking straight past it, and Felicity learned pretty earlier that a misstep from his designated path led to an eruption of gibbering from the tree tops and a screeching from her little guide.

The sun was fresh but hadn't yet warmed the dew from the shadowed jungle floor and the air was bitingly frigid as it brushed past her cheeks, and the slapping of a few low hanging branches certainly didn't help.

It was nearly 20 minutes of walking, near running in places, before they stopped at a large, fallen tree. The trunk was massive and Felicity had to hoist herself up onto it first to clamber over it as the monkey had done. Palm fronds were strewn haphazardly over it and, once she was on it, a few of the tree top followers descended to pull away the forest litter.

There was a low, gruffly groan and when Felicity pulled away the closest branch she found a familiar face staring back at her.

The nameless man, and he was hurt.

**AN: AO3 Vixx2pointOh**


	4. Scars

Felicity pulled the rest of the covering away as quickly as she could and in spite of the pain that each jarring movement sent down her injured arm. His face was dirty and his eyes were trained towards the patch of blue sky that could be seen through the tree canopy.

There was a wound on the edge of his thigh and while Felicity was no expert, it looked to her like a bullet hole. He had made a tunicate from a scrap of fabric and tied it tightly above the wound, but it was clear it had stopped him from returning to the plane.

"I told you to stay inside," he coughed as she helped him sit up  
She glared at him before she answered with a tiny shake of her head. "I could just leave you out here if you prefer."  
With his biceps bulging beneath the grubby shirt, he hoisted himself up onto the log with a strained grunt. But that movement alone seemed to sap any energy he had and his head and shoulders slumped forward.  
"Can you stand?" Felicity asked as she slipped her arm out from the sling. The pain made her wince, but it was proving to be a nuisance she didn't need.

The man she had aptly dubbed Grumpy Tarzan looked wearily up at her, and she could tell what he was thinking; she was thinking it too – he weighed probably close to twice what she did, so getting him back wasn't going to be easy.

But, then again, neither was surviving a helicopter crash – yet, there she was.

With another low and raspy grunt, he pushed himself up and off the log and onto both his feet. The pain made him hiss as Felicity swooped in and hoisted his arm around her shoulders. Just his arm felt like a weighted yolk and she felt her own body slumping when he lifted weight from his injured leg and braced himself against her.

"I don't think," he started.  
But Felicity cut him short, "You lead the way." She glanced up and caught the onlookers above them. "Or I suppose they could," she added with a smile.

They started slowly, each step taking a painful amount of stamina and effort on both their parts, until they managed to evolve into a somewhat of a steady rhythm and pace.  
"Are there landmines around here?" Felicity asked as an afterthought; after all she was new to the whole concept of one step and kaboom.  
"No," the man grunted, the pain in his voice was unmistakable. "Just traps," he added after a short breath.  
"Who would set traps around the place?" Felicity wondered aloud before she turned her head towards him and caught the furrow in his brow. "Oh, right," she mumbled. Apparently he would.

She recognised the tall, mossy trunk of a towering tree just as Oliver stopped suddenly and shifted them to the left to go around it.  
"Is there a trap there?" Felicity asked while she squinted up towards the canopy in search of something untoward.  
He nodded, faintly but enough to be recognised as an answer.

Felicity glanced over her shoulder at the monkey who was following closely, between stops to snatch up bark off the forest floor. Had the monkey known?

Finally, tired and aching, they reached the hideaway and the man landed with a crash onto the cot. The pain was etched into the lines on his face and his brow was wet with sweat. Felicity, holding back the dry retch in the back of her throat, got as close to the dirty wound as she dared. "Is the bullet still in there?" she asked with a grimace.

He tried to sit up, but couldn't and soon dropped back down. "Have you ever played operation?" he grunted as he stared up at the ceiling of the dilapidated plane.  
"I had a Sesame Street version as a child," Felicity replied with a small, fleeting smile.  
"Were you any good?"  
"Do you have any choice?"  
He grunted.  
"That's what I thought. Is there some clean water around here?" Felicity asked as she looked around.  
"In the trunk," he answered, each word more laboured than the last.  
She opened it and gathered what she could see including the first aid kit from her helicopter, the canister of water, a switch blade from his collection, and the flask of potent liquor.

He jutted out his hand to take the alcohol but Felicity shook her head. "It's not for you to drink, it's to clean the wound."  
He groaned as he wrapped his arm across his face. "Just don't use it all."  
Felicity glanced down at the wound then across to the man, before she took a breath and readied herself; after all it was going to hurt him, but it was hardly enjoyable for her. "This is going to hurt," she pointed out, probably obviously, "do you want a stick to bite down on?"  
He raised his forearm just enough to see her through the gap. His face was expressionless and dry. "I'll be fi…," he started.  
But his words bent into a twisted bellow when Felicity poured the alcohol over the undressed wound.  
She could see the veins on his arm twisting as he clenched his fist and the threads at the base of his throat were bright scarlet.  
"Now you can drink it," she offered while she held it out to him.  
Lithely he reached for it and took a gulp before he gasped roughly.

Keeping her attentions downward, Felicity carefully used the clean water and the cleanest rag she could find to dab away any dirt surrounding the injury. She could see the silvery refractions from the bullet just below the surface of the torn flesh.  
"Are you sure it's a good idea to remove it?" she asked before she nibbled unconsciously on the edge of her lower lip while her head cocked towards one shoulder.

When she wasn't looking at him, he peaked out between his closed eyes at her and for a moment he was caught up in the innocence of her furrowed brow. The scars on his body were a map of the tortures he'd faced on this island; a bullet wound to his thigh hardly merited a footnote in that biography.

"It needs to come out," he remarked when her head turned to look at him. With a grunt of air he attempted to sit up, but the best he could manage was to rest on his elbow. "I can…," his words stopped as his breathing became laboured. That was unfortunate. "I can do it," he repeated, each word taking a monumental effort to enunciate.

There were spots in his eyes and a slight echoed buzz with every sound he heard; neither of which boded well.  
"Lie back down you oaf," Felicity huffed as she pushed on the cusp of his shoulder. It hadn't been hard, but he didn't fight it and he slumped back down onto the cot. "I can see it, but if it's stopping a bleed, you could," she paused, unwilling to say the words. She wasn't a doctor, or even a first year med student, but she'd watched enough medical dramas to know that removing a bullet could result in a serious bleed, one that she would have no way of stopping in some remote forest island. This wasn't a movie; he could very really die.

He touched her wrist before his fingers slipped away and he took another drink. "I know," was stated with a categorical nod.

"Well then." Felicity kneeled on the dirt floor and wadded up the cotton gauze she would use if needed, setting them in a path along the inside of his leg. She peeled off the wrapper around the large tweezers; at least they were brand new from the kit so she wouldn't have to sterilize them; small mercies.

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her elbow and took a deep breath, as she attempted to convince herself that this was just like trying to feed a wire around a motherboard, without touching anything else…and ignoring the throbbing flesh of course.

"This is probably going to hurt too," Felicity remarked, but she dared not look at him as he took another drink.

She reached into the wound carefully, but there was no way to avoid grazing the torn edges of tissue and she watched, from the corner of her eye, as his entire body clenched and writhed until she felt the pinch as metal connected with metal and she steadied her shaking hand as best she could.

"I'm going to remove it now," she spoke, a shiver in her voice as she focused on the task. She didn't hear him grunt in response before she released a breath through her parted lips and pulled.

In her mind she had imagined it would simply slide out, but that was far from the case and with each jerk she made, her patient let out a muffled grunt beneath his arm. It was tight and embedded and the metal slipped around the small lip of the bullet as fresh blood began to pool around it.

She bit back any tears and nausea as she gave it one last tug and the bullet came free. A spring of blood ran from the wound like a river and for a few short moments – that felt like a lifetime – Felicity was frozen. But her hand reacted quicker than her mind and she packed the wound quickly.

She held the blade of the knife in the middle of the hot fire embers for a count of a few seconds before she pulled it out and pressed it for only a literal second to the edge of the inch-long wound.

"Fuck," he yelled, unable to hold his pain back a moment longer.  
Felicity was shaking as she pressed the warmed knife to his skin a second time, her mouth counting out two seconds before she lifted it away.

She watched the blood seep through the first strip of cotton as she heated the blade up for a third time. She never realised how heavily her entire body was shaking or how pale she had gone; all she could do was count – in the fire for five seconds, one, two, three, four, five. On the wound for two, one, two.

Repeat.

She didn't notice when the blood started to slow.  
She didn't hear him say her name.  
She didn't know anything else until she felt his strong hand gripping her wrist.

"It's out, you did good," he sighed. His head was lifted a fraction, but he couldn't keep it up longer than a few seconds.  
"I got it out," Felicity replied, a little shell-shocked and her voice trembled. "You're not dead."  
"Not yet," he remarked as the buzz got louder and the taste of metal filled his mouth.  
"I think the bleeding has stopped, I'll just…," she went to add more bandages on top of the soaked ones, but he didn't release her wrist.

"I'm not going to have time to bleed out," he spoke, monotonous and laboured. "The bullet tip was laced with poison."  
Felicity stared at him in some faint hope that he was just being a moron and this was some absurd idea of a joke because the only company he kept was monkeys. But it wasn't. His face remained sterile.

"I'm going to pass out soon," he paused to take a breath, but even the deepest he could suck in didn't seem to fill his lungs. "In the trunk there is a bag of herbs. Crush it in the mortar and pestle," he glanced up to the overhead cabinet where he'd found her a spoon the night before. "Mix it with water and apply it to the wound."  
He clenched unwillingly and his grip tightened, almost painfully, around her wrist as his chest convulsed.

His jaw clenched and he had to force the next words out. "Wrap it with a bandage. Outside, walk straight due north." He coughed as his mouth filled with phlegm. "There is a waterfall. Get mud from the bank."

A pained howl flew from his mouth and his grip on her tightened so much her skin felt burnt beneath it.

"Put the mud over." He felt the light-headedness like a king punch, but he fought it back, desperate to get the last few words out. "Put it over the wound."  
A few moments of lucidness saw his grip relax around her wrist.  
"How will I know it worked?"  
He chuckled, breathy and dry. "If I wake up in a few hours then it worked. If I don't, then it didn't."

There was no more to be done and blackness swamped him.

Felicity looked down as his hand dropped to the floor and his knuckles skimmed against the dirt. She looked down at the red tracks across her wrist and tried to stand up. She pushed herself upwards and then one foot in front of the other as she repeated his instructions, word for word, over in her head; ever thankful for her near perfect recollection.

She mixed the herbs into a paste and pulling back the soiled cloths she spread it thickly over the cauterised laceration. The paste held the bleeding at bay and Felicity carefully removed his pants with robotic like precision, worried that perhaps she might get mud on them.

It seemed nonsensical, but in the moment it felt like a priority she quickly attended to. She found a compass in the same cabinet as the mortar and pestle and passed rigidly through the plastic flap. After checking her bearings and trying not to think about any traps that might be laden on her path, Felicity set off.

She was surprised to find the lagoon and waterfall was not even 10 minutes away. Had she not been so focused on the task of filling up the metal pail she'd taken with her, Felicity might have taken a moment to drink in the breath-taking beauty of the rippled water and the showering waterfall. But she didn't, and she was back at the wreckage speedily.

In a haze Felicity did the rest of what she was asked before finally tying his soiled pants around his leg just tight enough to not fall down, but loose enough that she could easily slip two fingers underneath it.

If I wake up in a few hours, it worked.

Felicity stumbled outside to the first tree and promptly threw up, until there was nothing but an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

When there was nothing left of her to give she stood up and took a shallow breath and she looked around the vast forest that enveloped them. This was all real.

Sniffing back tears she refused to spend, Felicity looked over to a pile of sticks stacked neatly at the base of a twisted tree. She gathered an armful and took them inside, focused on starting a fire. She found matches in the kit from her helicopter and there was what looked like shredded bark in one corner of the room. Bundling it altogether, Felicity carefully constructed an airy tent above the embers and coaxed a flame with a single strike of a match.

As the tiny flame jumped and danced Felicity sat back and clutched her knees to her chest. And then for the second time in as many days; she cried.

**/**

What felt to her like an hour later there was a desperate gnawing in her stomach she could no longer ignore. She lifted the lid on the pot hung over the now-roaring fire and inhaled the aromas which, now, smelled like a Michelin-awarded meal.

She tried not to think about the fact she still had no idea what was in it as she helped herself to a full bowl; only after checking there would be enough for him – whomever he was.

The murderer.

Felicity touched a tentative finger to the slight marks that still marred the skin around her wrist, his strength was undeniable and yet the night before his touch had been so gentle.

Behind the cracked façade and the brooding eyes lay something more... a murderer... She couldn't believe it.

She kept one eye on him tucked under the blanket as she savoured the warm meal.

Another hour past and Felicity gently moped the sweat from his brow. She had checked carefully and frequently that he was breathing, releasing a relieved breath every time the answer was yes.

She kept the fire stoked and sat quietly reading the back of each unopened packet in the first aid kit, in both English and what she assumed was French, or Spanish. It was around her fourth reading of the resuscitation shield that Felicity heard the rustle of the fabric door. She looked across the room as a tentative monkey entered. She couldn't be adamant, but she was fairly certain it was the same one from earlier that day, with his dusty reddish coat and the puff of white fur around his crinkled nose.

She sat still and silent as he chatted to himself and scampered over to where the man lay.  
"Is he your friend?" she wondered aloud, and she was surprised when the sprightly animal looked up at her and tipped his head curiously to one side.  
"Is he always so grouchy?" Felicity asked. She could have sworn the monkey's little bob up and down was a resounding yes; but she was probably projecting.

He approached her cautiously with one hand gripping at the dirt while the other he held out to Felicity. She crouched down and mirrored his stance as best she could. They were almost eye-locked when his fingers stretched out just that little farther and he took a slow step forward.

His tiny fingers batted hers, something akin to a high five on the side before he screeched excitedly. And, just as quickly as he'd come in, the little monkey left.  
"One day here and I'm already talking to the wildlife," she sighed as she slumped down into the chair. "And I don't even know where here is."

She sighed a second time as she looked across at the sleeping mountain of muscles.  
"And now I'm talking to myself, just great."

She finished eating and set the plate aside, suddenly aware that she was practically alone in a space she hadn't even begun to explore.

Felicity stood up and walked wearily towards the cockpit to start with. It looked like it hailed from one of the movies or shows she had watched as a child, so at a guess she decided the plane was likely circa mid to late 1980s.

Aside from the shattered windscreen and the jungle starting to envelope it, it looked in pretty good condition. Crouching down, Felicity scoped out the underside where the cover plates had fallen loose. Surprisingly, most of the wires seemed in fairly good condition, aside from the layer of dust and the few that looked like they had been nibbled on. She picked up a headset from the ground and idly dusted it off before she hung it on the designated hook near the headrest.

As she touched the worn edges of the leather where the beige foam poked through, Felicity couldn't help but wonder about the people who were once aboard this plane. It hadn't flown itself here and an eerie shiver crept down her back the more she thought about how unlikely it would be that only the pilot was on board.

Had they made it out alive?  
Had they been rescued?  
Were they out in the world somewhere living their lives as best they could with memories they couldn't erase?

Were they still here?

How many had died?  
Had they found the peace that she hadn't been able to?

Would people wonder the same about her when they stumbled across the helicopter wreckage?

She stepped backwards out of the haunting cockpit, the thoughts of what must have gone on there were too much and she found herself struggling to breathe with the hail of questions bearing down on her.

Regaining some composure through a stiff upper lip, Felicity walked around to the table she'd seen earlier. The array of weapons consisted of the blade she'd seen him carving with the night before, another that was much thinner, something like a boning knife, a sword with a broad, thin blade that curved near the top, perhaps a machete she decided, and the little grey box the pilot had lopped at her in annoyance.

Inside that was what she assumed was an orange flare gun with two 4 extra cartridges, 4 red flares that (according to the writing on the casing) were 'handheld signal flares', 2 orange ones that made her wonder the difference in meaning between red and orange, a signal mirror, a distress flag, and a whistle; approved by the US Coastguard – a fact which seemed thoroughly useless in her particular set of circumstances as she doubted the US Coastguard ventured anywhere near the North China Sea.

Felicity took the plastic whistle all the same and hung it around her neck, tucking it discretely under her shirt before she lowered the lid and snapped it closed.

She picked up the bow she had found with him and set it up on the table, together with the knife he'd had strapped to his ankle and the utility belt she'd found him wearing which he'd thrown onto the floor when they stumbled inside. The blade she had used to cauterise his wound was marred with dry smudges of blood and absently Felicity decided she ought to clean it before putting it on the table too.

She checked on the man, ensuring his dressing was stable, and that he was still breathing – He was.Only after she was satisfied, Felicity gathered the bucket, and set off down to the lagoon where he'd sent her previously.

After cleaning out the mud and silt in the bottom of the bucket, Felicity filled it halfway (as far up as she could comfortably carry) and set off back the way she had come. She walked in a straight line, pausing every 10 or so steps to ensure that she hadn't been turned around and that, despite the occasional rustle of the bushes, she was alone.

Quietly, once back, she placed the metal pail as close to the flames as she could. The smoke was becoming a little choking and while she didn't quite understand why the fire was inside the wreckage as opposed to outside, Felicity decided to leave well enough alone; she did however pin the door flap back as best she could to dissipate some of the smoke.

While she waited for the water to heat up Felicity wandered around the wreckage again. It was the size of a largish bedroom, maybe a little smaller than her apartment's living space. There wasn't much to be seen of the floor beneath the dirt aside from a few metal struts where perhaps seats had once been bolted to the floor. She imagined it might have been the first class area which would explain the larger chair that sat in the corner. She wasn't sure what the bench had been made out of, but on closer inspection it was actually quite sturdy.

The table was nothing special, and yet it really didn't seem like it belonged there, neither did the cot.

Neither did he.  
Neither did she.

When the water finally started to bubble Felicity washed the bowl and spoon she had used and the bowl he'd used the night before. Finally, she carefully cleaned the knife before placing it on the table with the rest of the weapons arrayed there.

The next hour found her using the warmed water to cleaned her face and slowly tend to some of the abrasions on her skin. It didn't go unnoticed that as the adrenaline and whatever other survival instincts slowly drained from her body and reality started to sink in, those minor scrapes started to hurt and a deep ache settled into the base of her neck... must have been where the case hit her.

She bit her lip a little harder than intended to bite back the tears because as much as she wanted to curl up in a ball and pretend like none of it was happening; the truth was that it was and no amount of pretending it wasn't would stop it.

She had to hold it together.  
Felicity assured herself with a tiny voice in her head before she stood up, shook off the self-wallowing and walked over to the man.

Once again she checked he was breathing before she pulled back the blanket and checked the dressing. The paste had formed a scab over the wound and there didn't appear to be any fresh blood, which she assumed was a good thing.

After tucking the blanket back over his mountainous body, Felicity's eyes landed on the trunk at the base of the bed. Her lips furrowed as she thought about two options; it didn't take long for her to decide to give into her curiosity.

She opened the lid with a creak and a tense lip as she watched him over the edge. Felicity allowed her fingers to graze over a few items she had already seen, albeit briefly, including a few clothes, the water canister, the 'drain-cleaner' alcohol, and the unmarked bag of 'herbs'. Beneath those items Felicity found some stacked tins of food that looked older than her, and a leather-bound notebook she unequivocally decided not to read, but as she moved it to one side a photo fell out from underneath it; buried but with some care.

Felicity stared at the photo without touching it before she placed a tentative finger on the edge and lifted it up. It was an image of a youngish brunette girl, early 20s at a guess. It was the type of photo that would be at home in a yearbook; wallet size. The edges were crinkled and there was a small tear in the bottom; it was a photo that had seen a lot.

The girl herself was very typical, pretty face turned to catch the light at her cheekbone. Perfectly fixed hair with a small wave near the ends. Her makeup was carefully applied and her smile was warm enough, but beyond the plum lipstick and straight teeth there seemed to be something hollow about it. It was posed and the inference that the girl in it was happy and put together was noted, and yet Felicity couldn't ignore the shallowness it alluded, her smile didn't meet her eyes.

A second look left Felicity with a sense that she knew the girl, but even squinting and cocking her head to the side didn't help bring out any reason why.

And yet Felicity couldn't shake the familiarity in that pageant smile.

Something about it...

She couldn't give it anymore thought though when she looked up and saw the man convulsing. When Felicity got closer she cold see him shivering and his breathing was uneven and shallow. She checked his pulse and found it weak and his skin damp and frigid.

There was a very real chance that he was going into hypothermic shock. She needed to warm him up and fast.

Only one thing came to mind; body heat.

With nimble fingers Felicity unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. His chest was as broad as she would have expected it to be, and his waist was narrow with just a smattering of dusty blonde hair near his navel. His abdomen was scarred with one puckered laceration near his ribs. Whatever it was it had healed but the scar tissue around it was raised and taut, meaning it hadn't healed with the care of modern medicine. His upper chest was firm and sculptured with another fan of dirty blonde hair in the centre. There was a smaller older wound on the front of his left shoulder too, but it looked more like what she imagined the fresh one on his leg would look like in a few years' time.

She tried to put aside any musings on what they could be while she stripped down as quickly as she could until she was standing in only her striped cotton panties; hardly an attractive pair of lingerie, but that hadn't really been her thought pattern when packing for the few days they intended to stay on the shores of the island if they found something.

Felicity climbed over the giant and settled herself between him and the wall of the plane. If she had thought the scars on his chest looked troublesome, she wasn't prepared for the ones on his back. There were at least half a dozen, maybe more, they crisscrossed over his back in uneven lines that created a sort of hatched pattern in his flesh.

Her finger trembled as she drew around the outline of one; it must have been deep and the edges looked torn, shredded even. She shuddered at the thought of how much pain even one such laceration must have inflicted, let alone the six or so that covered his back.

What had this man endured?

Felicity closed her eyes and leaned her naked body against his. Prickles ran over her skin as her warmth bled into his body. She shivered as she pressed in closer while her body raced to keep her temperature, and his, up. Her nipples hardened with the chill off his taut back, and, as best as she could, Felicity wrapped one arm around him and rubbed his stomach in short, fast strokes.

The concept of time was wavering and Felicity really wasn't sure how long she stayed there, her naked form curled up behind his, listening to the sound of his breathing as it resonated from his back. She hadn't found sleep herself, but as her own body struggled to maintain its temperature she found her eyes lulling closed and her own breathing becoming drawn.

But after what felt like an hour, maybe more, with the fire starting to run out of wood, Felicity sat up behind him and peered down at his sullen face. There were so many questions floating around her brain, none of which she could come up with logical answers for.

Had he known Oliver?  
Had he been here longer than 4 years?  
Had Oliver washed up on this island, hurt and confused; perhaps the man laying beside her had done the most humane thing?

And yet, despite those questions and the semi-logical inference she could have made, there was something she couldn't ignore – what if Oliver wasn't dead at all?

She touched the back of her hand to his forehead and smiled as she felt nothing – meaning he was neither feverish nor hypothermic. As carefully as she could Felicity slipped out from the blanket and off the tiny cot, and got redressed in the clothes she had left draped near enough to the fire to keep them toasty, and the result was a soft sigh as the warmed tee enveloped her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered under his breath as Felicity made her way to the door to collect more wood. She glanced back at him, but he hadn't moved and she concluded the apology was not meant for her.

After stoking the fire Felicity demolished another bowl of warmed stew, still ensuring there would be enough left for the chef when – if – he woke up.

It was just after she'd finished the same when the monkey returned, clutching something long and rectangular in his hand. With an excited chant he handed Felicity the object; it was a fully-wrapped chocolate bar.  
"Where did you get this from?" she gaped in confusion before she turned it to check the use-by date. It was still good.

She tore into the packet and sunk down into the chair with a sigh as the decadent sweetness hit her pallet; it was insane how utterly amazing that simple chocolate bar tasted to her in that moment.

The monkey clambered onto the back of the chair and gently began rolling the ends of Felicity's hair between his thumb and forefinger with a look of complete focus in his big brown eyes.  
"Do you have a name little guy, or girl?" Felicity wondered aloud as she turned a little towards him.  
"Ben," came a groaned response from across the room.  
Startled, Felicity leapt up and Ben pounced across the room onto the trunk near the bed.  
"Fuck, you need a cat collar with a bell or something," she panted with one hand clutched to her chest.  
"Sorry," he lamented as he slowly sat up. "So, I'm not dead," he added with a perplexed smile. It was as though he was surprised at that fact.  
"Guess not," Felicity shrugged.  
"That's good."  
"Indeed."

He looked down again and his brow crinkled at the bridge of his nose. "I am shirtless though."  
Shit, she blinked.  
"You were um, cold, so I um," Felicity began to explain, pausing to scratch her head. "I warmed you up."  
"By taking off my clothes?" he quipped.  
She folded her arms across her chest and shrugged again, as nonchalantly as she could. "I did what had to be done, and you're welcome."

Felicity handed him his folded shirt which she'd kept near the fire. "Here."  
"Thank you," he replied as he took it and put in on.  
"So this is Ben?" Felicity asked while she nodded towards the bobbing monkey.  
"Well that's just what I call him," he remarked offhandedly. "I'm not really sure what his mother named him. I don't speak monkey."

Felicity returned his smirk with one of her own. "What happened to not needing a name in purgatory?"  
He groaned gruffly as he moved his leg. "I made an exception."  
"And the girl in the photo you carry around in your trunk, what's her name?" Felicity chewed the edge of her lip after the question had been flung from it. She hadn't been intending on bringing that up, but there was still something about that photo that she just couldn't shake.

The man froze and between the glowing haze and smoky columns of the fire, Felicity could see he was staring pointedly at her; though his expression was unreadable.  
"You went through my things?" he grunted before he broke eye contact and fixated on the bandage around his leg.  
"You went through my stuff first," she remarked, referring to the knapsack where he'd found her name.  
He glanced up and Felicity swore she saw a smile. "Fair point."  
"So who is she?" Felicity asked gently. There was no accusation in her voice, just a simple question with what she hoped would be a simple answer; after all she was stuck with this man and she didn't even know his name, perhaps this would help him open up.

"She's the past. It's not important," he retorted bluntly.  
"You kept the photo, that seems important," Felicity bickered.  
He looked up, his lips flat and nearly terse; and Felicity wondered if she was pushing him too strongly. "Fine, look, you don't want to tell me, it doesn't matter," she huffed as she stood up and fixed him a bowl of stew. "But you should eat."

Her hand jutted out the bowl towards him and with what might have been the faint hints of a growing smile, he took it. "Thank you," he mumbled, albeit pleasantly enough.  
Felicity sat back down and tucked her legs up under her body as her eyes gazed down at the fire. "Mmmhmm."

Watching the flames reminded her of how much she loved that little coffee shop near her work during winter; with its brick fireplace and the decadent aroma of freshly brewed dark Arabian, it was heaven – and the subway station was right outside.

Her eyes brows twitched as she imagined herself wrapping a coat tightly around her frame and setting off in the stormy weather during winter. Shaking off as she walked down the peach-coloured stairs; the bustle of the subway station, the busker who was always there playing Christmas songs with Jazz renditions, the poster behind him.

The face.

Vote – Starling City DA, an older man, greying at the sides, rotund … but behind him; a woman, older around the eyes, straight, shorter hair; but the same practiced smile – Assistant District Attorney, Laurel Lance.

Felicity's head snapped up. She swallowed back the a-ha's threatening to expose what she knew as she casually leaned forward to watch him. "It's fine, you don't need to tell me about Laurel."

She saw the tightening at his lips and the creases form over his brow – his face told her he knew exactly what she meant.

Felicity stood up and padded over to where she'd put her bag and, after rummaging for a few seconds through it, she pulled out at old photo of Oliver Queen.

"You didn't kill Oliver Queen, you are Oliver Queen."

Oliver's shoulders slumped forward and he let out an exhausted sigh.  
He didn't have the strength to tell anymore lies.


	5. Past

Felicity kept her eyes trained on him – Oliver – even as his shoulders slumped forward and an exhausted sigh bled from his lips. But he never spoke a word, and he never looked up.

When the seconds dragged into minutes, Felicity spoke again, "Your name is Oliver Queen. You were on board the Queen's Gambit when it sunk. You ended up here. Your mother…,"  
"Stop, please," he interrupted, his voice low and almost whispered.  
"Why did you lie?" Felicity asked as gently as she could; he must have had his reasons.  
"I didn't lie to you." For the first time Oliver looked up.  
Felicity breathed out an exacerbated sigh. "You said Oliver was dead."  
"He is."  
"You're Oliver Queen."  
He stood up and ran a trembling hand through his tresses. "I was. No one calls me that anymore. Oliver died years ago, because he had to."

"Then who are you?" Felicity asked, her voice tempered to a soft sigh.  
Oliver squinted at his feet, he wasn't sure anymore; it had been so long. "I don't know," he answered, his voice whispered and dry.

"You're Oliver Queen, born May 1985, son of Moira and Robert Queen. You're Oliver Queen," she crouched down in front of him as the last words left softly off her lips and grazed the air between them.

He nodded. "Yes."  
"And that photo, that's Laurel?"  
"Yes," he answered, wringing his hands tightly over each other.  
"Do you keep the photo to remind you of her?"  
"No." Small and fragmented. "I keep it because it reminds me of all the mistakes I've made and the people I've hurt. I have a lot to apologise for."  
Felicity knew the story; before her time it had been a massive scandal, but even years later people still spoke about it.  
"The girl that was on the boat with you," Felicity started, but she stopped when she saw his face contort; she didn't mean to rehash a memory he probably didn't want to relive.  
But he finished her words with weary reply. "Laurel's sister, Sara."  
He had spent years paying penance in blame, but even now he spoke her name laden with his own guilt.

When he glanced up Felicity caught the faint look in his eyes like he was hoping to know more, but they were questions he was afraid to ask.  
"She's married now, Laurel," Felicity offered with an absent shrug. But when Oliver didn't register her words, she wondered if she had completely misread that fleeting glance on his face. "I don't know if that was something you wanted to know or not." Her eyes closed and she silently chastised herself until she heard him speak up.

"I'm glad she moved on," he remarked, and he even sounded relieved.  
"She's an ADA in Starling."  
A short nod. "Sounds about right."  
"I tried to meet with her before I set off here, but she was too busy to return my calls," Felicity remarked with an apologetic smile.  
But Oliver was unsurprised. "I'm not surprised," he reiterated the words to match his expression. "I don't think I'm a part of her life that she would want to relive."

Felicity offered him a piece of chocolate, which he took.  
"Your other friend Tommy, he spoke with me though."  
Oliver looked up and his beard ruffled with the small smile he held underneath. "He did?"  
She sat down on the edge of the cot in the space Oliver had made and nodded. "He had a lot of good things to say about you."

**/two months ago**

Felicity clutched her cell phone in her hands as her heels tapped idly on the linoleum floor of the Hospital cantina. It was bustling with visitors, patients, and staff, but Felicity could only hear the deep thump of her heart behind her chest.

She had been surprised when Tommy Merlyn had answered her somewhat vague email about possibly talking to him about Oliver Queen; and she had been even more surprised when he suggested meeting in person at the hospital where he worked the next day – today.

She had half expected her email to go ignored, much like the two she sent to Laurel Lance (and the follow up phone call), but Tommy's reply was pleasant albeit short, and his offer seemed genuine.

"Felicity?" a voice asked from above her and Felicity's head snapped up from her phone to look at the intruder.  
"That's me," she smiled when she recognised Tommy's boyish but charming face from his hospital profile.  
Tommy nodded as he took the seat opposite her. He was already holding a cup of coffee and Felicity was nursing her own.  
She pushed a plate holding a blueberry muffin towards him and smiled. "I hope you like blueberry."  
He chuckled graciously. "What is there not to like about blueberry?" he jokingly lamented.  
"I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me about Oliver," Felicity remarked cordially, as she set her phone aside.

"It's been a while since a girl has asked me about Oliver and seemed pretty sane," Tommy remarked with a playfully exacerbated sigh.  
"I would like to think I'm pretty sane," Felicity answered, though her inner thoughts reminded her that she was in the process of trying to find the last known whereabouts of someone who very likely drowned at sea four years ago.

He took a sip of coffee and sat back in his chair jauntily. "When it first happened, I would get girls tracking me down convinced that he was still alive, or that they saw him in Vegas, or slept with him in Delaware. I even had a few ask for something he owned so they could contact him from beyond the grave." He sat forward again and took a pinch of muffin, keeping his eyes low, masking the sadness rooted in them. "There was even one girl a year or so back who was pretty convinced his ghost had fucked her and she was pregnant with his baby."

He looked up and winced, realising the language he'd just used. "Sorry, I mean 'had intercourse'. Old habits," he cringed.  
"You don't need to be sorry on my account," Felicity assured him. "And, I assure you I'm not here for any of those reasons."  
He studied her for a moment, she was pretty but not in a way that said she knew it, and her smile was genuine as it stretched up into her azure eyes. The longer he looked the more she fidgeted with her glasses or the tips of her hair. She definitely didn't have crazy inscribed on her.  
"And I don't believe in ghosts," she added with a spritely chuckle; one that made him laugh in turn.  
"Thank goodness," he expressed warmly. "So what is it you wanted to know, are you writing an article or a tell-all expose that is going to get me in a lot of trouble with the Queen empire?" Tommy started but left his sentence somewhat fragmented as a slightly curious smile stretched across his mouth.

"No," Felicity shook her head softly, her ponytail swaying from one shoulder to the other. She didn't like lying and truthfully (irony intended) she was utterly terrible at it. But, her promise made to Mrs Queen meant she couldn't tell anyone, even Oliver's best friend, that she was soon leaving on an expedition to either find him, or discover what had happened to him.

Firstly, because it sounded like madness; and secondly because Moira had insisted no one else know. Felicity may not have understood the matriarch's reasons but she would respect them, and not just because of the non-disclosure agreement she had signed.

"It's just a side project you know, like unsolved mysteries podcast thing," she added with a smile that felt like her cheeks were burning.  
Tommy chuckled as he picked apart his blueberry muffin.

"Well I'm not sure what kind of mystery you'll find here, Oliver was just like me, spoiled, affluent, a snappy dresser, a generous tipper, you'll have to ask an ex girlfriend what he was like as a lover if that's the information you needed."

Felicity pinched her brow until she saw Tommy laugh again, then she couldn't help but relax in his presence. She also couldn't help but wonder if Oliver Queen had been this charming; and, if so, then it was no surprise they were known 'around town'.

"How long were you two friends?" Felicity asked, deciding to steer the discussion away from Oliver's 'bed manners'.  
"Since we were children, we were about 3 years old when we met in preschool."  
"Who was he to you?" she asked.

It was an open question where interpretation was free, and Tommy sat back to ponder on it for a few moments.

Her flight to China left in a couple of weeks and she was expected to spend some time while over there gathering whatever information she could, but this fact-finding expedition felt like something else; something personal. While none of this chat with Tommy was really relevant to Felicity finding the life raft, the more she plotted and planned the recon mission the more she felt the need to know the person, beyond what the tabloids showed or the PR spun.

Tommy clasped his hands in front and rested them on the oak table with the one wonky leg. "Oliver was my best friend. I expected him to be my best man at my wedding when that day eventually comes. I expected him to be the godfather to any children I might be blessed with. I'd figured we'd turn into grumpy old men together."

She watched him sigh, the memories and thoughts taking a toll on his slumping shoulders.  
"I expected we would grow up together. That together we'd grow out of being perpetual bachelors and party animals. But, he never got the chance to show the world how much more he could be."

Felicity nodded to his resident scrubs and smiled kindly. "But you did."  
Tommy thanked her with a nod. "In part because of him."  
"How's that?"  
"My mother was a surgeon who worked tirelessly to help people, unfortunately she died before she could see that legacy through. Oliver knew that and he had always encouraged me to follow her footsteps if that's what I wanted. His death was the catalyst I needed to pull my head out of my ass and do something with myself," he replied candidly.

He tapped his pocket where his hospital badge sat. "I do this for us all. Him, her, and myself."  
"That sounds like a lot of pressure for you," Felicity remarked, chewing on the inside of her lip as she considered the man sitting across the table; from every outside aspect Tommy and Oliver had been kin, cut from the same cloth, but Oliver never had the chance to prove himself, forever left in the legacy of tabloid fodder.

Her heart sunk; ridiculous given it was for a man she didn't even know - had never even met.

"I'd like to think if it were me on the boat, then Oliver would have lived his best life for us both too," he remarked, wistful.

Tommy's pager on his belt beeped and he glanced down for a few seconds to check it. "Sorry Miss Smoak, I'm on call and I'm being paged." He stood up and offered his hand across the table. Felicity stood up and shook his hand with a lively smile.

"I really appreciate you taking the time to talk with me Mr Merlyn."  
He laid his second hand over hers. "Whatever you decide to say about him on this podcast, I want you to know that he was a good guy who occasionally made some poor life choices, we all did." Felicity nodded recounting her own punk-goth-grunge phase. "But he was a good guy," Tommy finished.  
"He sounds like it," she commented.

Tommy nodded, thankful for her acknowledgement. There was a thread of deep sadness she saw in his pale blue eyes; Oliver might have been a playboy-trust-funder, but he was also a brother, a son, and a friend.

She'd learned that.

Tommy chuckled to himself as he tousled a hand through his hair. "I hope you don't think I'm strange for saying this, but I think Oliver would have liked you."  
Felicity laughed, a little louder than intended, even with a little snort at the end. "I hardly think I would have been his type." She pushed her glasses instinctively up the bridge of her nose.  
"See that's just the thing, I genuinely think you would have been exactly what he needed."

He departed with one last smile and Felicity stood, a little perplexed at the comment he'd left with. Surely, he was just being kind. She'd seen the slew of women that had frequented Oliver's bed; she was unequivocally not his type.

**/**

Felicity kept the last few moments of that discussion to herself as Oliver listened attentively with his head bowed; there was no reason to bring up the foolish notion that she would have been his type when it was absolutely complete _hogwash_.

And it was certainly not a discussion worth having; hearing him laugh at the notion might be a little more than she could handle in this fragile balance of 'barely fucking holding it together'. Not because of him, of course. While she might have found him cute in a surface-level, picture on his mother's desk kind of way, neither Oliver Queen or Grumpy Tarzan were her type either, but that, however, didn't mean it needed to be openly considered and debated.

When Felicity was finished recounting her brief meeting with Tommy, Oliver looked up and there was a tentative sadness hung around his irises, and yet, there lived the smallest of smiles across his lips.

"He did good," he remarked softly. His voice was thin, brittle even; nearly breaking at the end. "My mother? How is she?" His eyes floated downwards again, perhaps embarrassed by the way his voice quivered and frayed around the edges, irrespective of the stiff upper lip he was trying so hard to maintain.

"She remarried, a man called Walter," Felicity started.  
"Steele," Oliver concluded with a small bob of his head. He knew the man, a friend of his father and by all accounts, a good man.  
"She believed you were still alive you know," Felicity added as one shoulder creeped up towards her cheek.  
He didn't look up, but she felt he had heard her all the same. "In fact, she's the one that funded this whole excursion. For what it's worth, I thought you were still alive too. Turns out we were right." A light, airy chuckle left her lips. It wasn't really in humour, but the heaviness of the room was lifted ever-so-slightly by it.

Finally, Oliver glanced up and looked at her with slightly squinted eyes and a furrowed brow beneath the flap of hair that had fallen forward. "Did we," he paused, hoping the inference was made clear, and ready with an apology if the answer was yes.  
"Know each other?" Felicity coughed before she felt an embarrassed warmth on the apples of her cheeks. "No," she almost laughed a second time, albeit that nervous laugh of awkwardness, but she managed to hold it back. They had not 'known each other intimately,' or at all in fact.

"I work at QC, your mother brought me something to try and decode," she shrugged her shoulders as though the hours spent on the intricacies that no lay person could have seen through meant nothing. "I noticed some inconsistencies with the search party they sent while I was looking." His interest was piqued. "They were looking in the wrong direction," Felicity added.

That answer seemed enough for him and he moved along with a small nod.  
"Thea? What about her?" he asked, hands clasped in front of his bowed frame.  
Felicity offered an apologetic smile to the top of his head. "I'm sorry, I've never really met her."  
"But?" Oliver said, almost a laugh.  
"No but."  
He glanced up without moving his head. "With a Queen sibling, there is always a but."  
"She frequents the society pages," Felicity relented, but she keeps the reasons to herself; it didn't seem necessary for Oliver to know his sister was, according to the last article Felicity read, absconded in a fancy rehab facility to avoid a Court-mandated one.

"Are you the only one that made it to the island?" Felicity asked when the conversation stalled.  
She watched as his hands clenched and rolled over each other and she chastised herself for asking a question he clearly didn't want to answer.

But, after a few hollow moments of echoed silence, he did. "Yes." He looked up and then prefaced his answer with a haunting word, "Alive."

"But there are other people here aren't there?" she questioned. Silence hung like a guillotine. "People that did that," she added, nodding down to his leg.  
She watched his demeanour darken and his jaw tense, even behind his cascading beard. "Yes."  
Felicity kept her eyes attuned with him. "Who?"  
His body tightened, and his shoulders stiffened before he abruptly stood up.

She watched him attentively for only a few moments as he walked over the bucket of tepid water.  
"Where are you going?" she asked, but he paid her no mind as he rinsed the mud off his leg.  
It was only at that stage Felicity realised he still wasn't wearing pants and as he moved around the light emanating from the fire, it became apparent just how thin the cotton boxer-briefs he had on were. She glanced away, instinctively focusing on the ground as she continued. "You've been shot."  
He walked over to the table once the mud pack had been mostly washed from his skin. "I need to go out."  
Felicity huffed a frustrated breath; he was acting like a stubborn child. "Again, you were shot in the leg and poisoned, remember that?"  
"I'm fine, you patched me up, remember that?" he argued with his back to her.

Her fist clenched at her side to restrain herself from whacking it across the back of his head. She had been through every rollercoaster of emotions over the last 30-something hours, and it seemed as though anger wanted in on the trip too.

She couldn't respond, her lips furrowed with curse words she kept locked behind them, as Oliver set about his tasks; placing the knife she'd used on his wound into the fire, finding a 'clean' pair of pants in the trunk, and counting out arrows left in his quiver.

She also watched with the same vexed expression when he clamped the wooden handle of the boning knife between his teeth and pressed the heated blade of the shorter knife against the still-fresh wound. Felicity herself grimaced at just watching his face contort in pain and she forced herself to swallow down the vomit that was encroaching up the back of her throat.

"How did you get here?" Oliver asked after he'd dropped both knives onto the table.  
Felicity didn't answer him straight away, watching in somewhat frozen shock as he yanked on his pants, giving next to no care to what she knew was a pretty gnarly injury.

"Felicity." The way he almost barked her named snapped her out of the momentary trance and she looked at him with pinched eyes. "How did you get here?" He repeated the question, but with a softened voice.  
"The helicopter," she answered, blinking back the images of the flames enveloping it.  
"Not from the mainland. How else?" His words were pointed, but not biting; however Felicity found her shoulders jolting at every one of them regardless.

"A fishing trawler," she scratched her head where the suitcase had hit. "I think."  
"Did you tell them where you were going?"  
She nodded slowly. That felt right. Felicity wasn't sure why the memories felt foggy, perhaps she wanted to repress the crash and she was fighting with herself over all the memories related to it.

"Why does this feel like an interrogation?" she pondered with her arms banded across her chest. "I came here looking for you and I found you."  
His eyes looked directly at her and she felt the breath hitch in her throat. "You found something much more than me."

She watched as he replaced the ankle strap and the utility belt; feeding a knife into each.  
"Tell me what's going on," she snipped, surprising even herself at the bite of her voice.  
He walked past her without a word, feeding the quiver and the bow onto his shoulders as he limped.

But Felicity wasn't dropping it. "Half of the stuff in this wreckage doesn't belong here, or in any jungle that I'm aware of, or even something you find washed up on a beach. What is this island?"  
She could feel the tears on the brink, but she fiercely held them back.  
"What is this place Oliver?"

He turned at the door and looked at her with a grim face and unreadable eyes.  
"You shouldn't have come here."

And then, just like before, he was gone; swallowed up by the deep shadows of the night.

**/**

Oliver didn't make it very far into the untamed jungle and in fact he could still see the barrel of the fuselage from the tree he leaned against while the pain of shredded flesh ached down his leg with a _thump_ he could almost hear.

Beads of sweat rolled across his forehead and tunnelled into the crevices of his furrowed brow while his hand trembled at his side.

The air was strangling with every breath he took and his other hand clawed instinctively and relentlessly at his throat to somehow alleviate the tightness. But it was all in his head, and it had no effect.

Finally, Oliver gasped and the bitingly frigid air burned his lungs as he drew it hastily in.

Using every ounce of strength he had, he pulled himself up to the first tree limb and, ignoring the burning pain rippling through his arms, he continued to climb while dragging his nearly-useless injured leg up behind him.

Spent, Oliver settled into a thick branch half way up the towering tree, giving himself a bird's eye perspective of at least a few hundred yards in any direction. He peered, still and silent, into the thicket of night over the ridges of the mountains to the south-west. He watched for lights glowing in the landscape and only released the breath he held when he saw none.

The scouts he had encountered last night would have been missed by now, but they would have marked their location as further east which is where he dumped two of the three bodies into a ravine, and tore apart their camp in an effort for it to appear like something else had happened. The one who had managed to peg him with a lucky shot he had killed and then disembowelled like a wild animal in the hopes anyone seeing it would believe that the case.

It was no easy task and one he didn't enjoy; darkness had not completely enveloped his soul. Perhaps that should have been some sort of comfort to Oliver, but it wasn't.

He peered down to the plane and watched with eagle-like focus to ensure Felicity didn't leave.

Felicity; thoughts of her had distracted him last night too, so much so that he had missed the third scout and caught a bullet to the leg. He couldn't allow that to happen again.

He felt the judgment in those curious brown eyes above him as the leaves shook.  
"You shouldn't have gone there for a chocolate bar," he whispered into the ebony air.  
Ben swung down from the branches above with a broad smile across his dark, floppy lips.

"One day they'll catch you and I won't be crossing the ravine to rescue your furry little ass," Oliver bickered before Ben turned so he was swinging from his tail curled in the branch above.

He nattered loudly before he dropped down in front of Oliver. Oliver reached out his hand and brushed it across the monkey's head. But Ben was in no mood and he slapped Oliver's hand away after the first time.

Oliver sat back against the tree and blew a sigh up into the sky. "You're mad at me too huh?" Ben squawked as his whole body bobbed up and down. "I wasn't wrong. She shouldn't have come here."

Ben picked a bug off the branch and threw it towards Oliver.  
"You're throwing things now?" Oliver grunted before he retaliated by throwing a chunk of bark back.

The monkey sped across the log and onto Oliver's shoulder before smacking his small hand into the side of Oliver's head.  
"Ow, you started it," Oliver grumbled as his head was pulled down towards the wreck he called home. He sighed, listless, _she shouldn't be here._

Ben hopped off Oliver's broad shoulder, stood up on his back legs and stared Oliver down, eye to eye. "Don't give me that look," he remarked after he glanced back down towards the wreckage. "She shouldn't have come looking for a ghost, and you shouldn't have gone into their camp."

Ben swung back into the tree and after another angry chatter in Oliver's direction, he headed down the tree.

"Where are you going?" Oliver mumbled. When his primate friend reached the entrance to the plane he huffed out a laugh. "Traitor".

He tore a hand through his knotted locks as his eyes closed and his head rolled against the pillow of bark behind him.

_Felicity Smoak._

She has crashed into his life, literally, bearing memories he hadn't allowed himself to focus on for years. The day Oliver died was the day he buried them behind blood and dirt, finally letting go of the hopeless notion that he would once again walk the streets of Starling.

Tommy, his best friend; the only one who never expected anything from him because he wasn't all that much different.

Thea, she was just a child when he'd left. A faint goodbye in the morning over bagels. She had begged him to stay because she had a piano recital. He'd brushed her off with a laugh saying he'd catch the next one. She had made him promise, rocking on her heels and looking up at him... just a child. He had promised.

His head hung, swaying with the weight of his memories.  
_He'd promised._

He bit back the still night air to force it all back down because he couldn't afford to step back into a life that would never be his again.

_Neither could she._  
Neither of them were getting off this island.

**/**

Felicity was exhausted, but even as her body lay spent and worthless on the bed, there was no calm in her brain and no promise of sleep in her future.

She had paced the path between the bed and the exit at least 40-something times before her legs couldn't hold her up a minute longer.

She had toyed with leaving, of taking her chances in a wilderness she knew next to nothing about, and while that might have made a very loud protest about Oliver demanding she stay put, there was a reasonably high chance her protest would end in her death; and that wasn't so much worth the fleeting statement to be made.

Ben came in after a little while and made himself at home at the end of the bed near her feet. She offered him a piece of the chocolate he'd mysteriously shown up with (after debating with herself whether or not monkeys could eat chocolate or, if like dogs, it was harmful to them); but he turned it down with a human-esque shake of his head.

There was a lot she didn't know about that little primate, or his connection to Oliver, but she had little time to dwell on it when the heavy sound of shuffling canvas startled her.

She allowed herself to breathe again when Oliver limped in carrying a small bunch of bananas, but she soon found herself holding an agitated breath. Agitated at nothing she could particularly pinpoint, but it all narrowed towards him.

He handed her a banana but she looked down at it without moving either of her hands. "No bullet for me to pull out this time?" she remarked, with a slight snideness she hadn't really anticipated and perhaps couldn't be blamed for; this was hardly a situation conductive to reason.

"Nope." The word popped like bubble gum from his mouth as he dropped the banana on her lap and offered another one to Ben.

Ben was a lot more forgiving and took it instantly from his hand before he started gnawing away at the skin.

"You should eat something," Oliver encouraged as he glanced sheepishly at Felicity.  
She took the fruit into her hand and clutched it with unintentional tightness before she abruptly stood up. "You should lie down here," she announced, completely unaware of the quiver in her voice.

But he heard it.  
He'd sounded like that once; when he began to realise there was no waking up from this nightmare.

"You take the bed," he offered as he sat down in the chair.  
"You were shot, you should have the bed," she answered, her voice weak and thin.  
"That wasn't the first time, probably won't be the last."  
He looked up and tried to offer her a smile but she didn't see it.

He sighed softly, recognising the fear and confusion in her eyes, and knowing that would soon dissolve into stone and acceptance. He felt an urge to embrace her, to run his hands over her silken hair and tell her it would be okay; Lie to her.

But he couldn't.

"You never answered my question the other night," he said with a soft voice.  
Felicity was confused and blinked blankly at him; unsure what he was talking about. He waited for her body to instinctively sit back down before he answered her puzzled look.  
"Do you have any pets?" Oliver asked as he shucked and demolished a banana in a matter of seconds.  
"Just the one, a cat," she answered, pausing to yawn. "But she's quite evil and I don't think she likes me much." A soft chuckle, but it still sounded a little hollow. "Also, she's not as cool as a monkey."

The room lapsed into a soothing silence and Felicity, exhausted, lay down.

"Goodnight Felicity."  
"Goodnight Oliver."  
He turned his face away from the edges of the fire's reach and stayed quiet and perfectly still, hoping that Felicity would soon think he'd found rest; so she would find her own.

But Oliver hadn't slept peacefully in 4 years.  
_Tonight would be no different_

* * *

**Also Read on AO3 / user Vixx2pointOh**


	6. Carnal

Felicity woke to fine slivers of sunrise leaking through the cracks in the dilapidated structure. As her senses started to rouse she could smell the faint scent of Christmas when her neighbour in the apartment next to her was busy making cinnamon-spiced coffee on a chilly Sunday morning.

She stroked her tongue across her dry and cracked lips and hummed hazily as even the air tasted delicious.

She opened her eyes next, and as they adjusted to the stark realities that once again the cylinder of metal and dirt was not just a vivid dream, she found herself wondering if there might ever be a day where that knowledge doesn't carry with a heavy weight of morose.

But the delectable aroma of coffee remained, as did the flavour of it on her palate. Dragging her heavy head up she found Oliver at the counter preparing something; something she didn't need to see to know what it was.

"You have coffee?" she yelped, surprising even herself at the pitch of her voice. She cleared her throat and tried it a second time, "uh, you have coffee?" – much more mellow.  
Oliver glanced over his shoulder and while she couldn't see his mouth, the bubble in his cheek and the soft squint in the corner of his eye led Felicity to believe he was smiling.

"It's nothing fancy, but surprisingly there isn't a Starbucks here yet," he remarked as he carried a tin mug towards her.  
"Is that a joke?" she teased while she took the mug from his hands. "Does Oliver Queen make jokes?"  
"That's pretty much my quota for the month," he said with an exaggerated shrug as he slunk back to the bench to collect his own cup.

He had woken a few hours beforehand and ventured back to the campsite along the ridge line to salvage the coffee from the supplies the men had with them. He never took much from them before, weary that wild animals didn't usually leave with keepsakes of coffee, sleeping rolls, or supplies, but he'd made an exception and returned to base with a sleeping bag, coffee, a few powered food items, and some other personal effects that he thought she might need.

The scout's camp hadn't been stumbled upon, which meant no one had gone looking for them – a small mercy; and the scavengers had done their part picking apart what he'd left of the place.

Felicity took her first sip, and while it was bitter and undoubtedly cheap – the kind that came with milk powder mixed in – it tasted like a god send on her palate. "Where is this from?" she hummed as Oliver took the seat across from her. She looked up and sighed, realising who it was she was talking to. "Never mind, you're not going to answer me so I don't know why I asked."

She stared down at her coffee to mull in the silence she expected. But it only lasted a few moments before Oliver spoke up.  
"There are other people on this island Felicity," he said stoically.  
Felicity looked up from the swirling fog of her coffee. "Who?"  
"Ghosts."  
She could feel her eyes start to roll back as she blew out an exacerbated sigh. "Ghosts who enjoy a cup of instant coffee and a chocolate bar every so often I suppose," she sarcastically answered.  
He chuckled, amused by her candour. "Not ghosts like the undead, ghosts like people without names or faces that you'll live long enough to recognise."

His chilling words lingered like an anvil in road runner cartoon.  
"What are they doing here?" Felicity asked quietly as her hands cupped the warm mug, the heat making her palms hurt; but at least she felt alive.  
Oliver finished his scolding coffee in a few gulps without changing his expression, while Felicity, merely watching, flinched. "They're looking for something," he finally answered as he stood up and strode over to the bench.  
"What?" she pushed.

But when he didn't answer, she found herself sitting on the edge of utter frustration.  
"Do you think keeping me in the dark is protecting me?" she asked, fierce undertones threading through her words.  
His hand fisted as his jaw clenched.

In four years of hell, he'd simply stopped talking.

"Yes," he shot back with focused eyes. "The less you know about what they're doing here the better."  
She could see the anguish in his eyes and the stress in the tight threads of his throat.

"Where are they?" she asked, adding a soft, "how far away I mean."  
"Far enough away. You'll be safe here."  
She nodded down to his thigh. "Like you were?"  
"That wasn't from nearby, and I was distracted," he answered dryly. "It won't happen again."

He'd managed to bury every other emotion over the past four years, he would bury his wayward thoughts about Felicity soon enough too. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted again; he couldn't save Sara, he couldn't keep his promise to Thea, and he wasn't around to help his mother, but Felicity he could protect if she just stayed put.

"Do they know you're here?" Felicity asked, pulling Oliver from his thoughts.  
He shook his head sharply, just the once. "They think I'm dead."  
That they killed me.  
"There seems to be a lot of that going around," Felicity suggested with a tempered smile. "People thinking you're dead. What about me? Do they know I'm here?"  
He couldn't assure her despite the fleeting look of fear in her eyes. "I don't know."

He watched her swallow before she breathed in a resilient and deep breath, almost like she was preparing herself for what he might say next. "If they did know I was here, what would they do?"

His silence felt worse than the answer she read in the lines on his face; nothing good.

"Did you have any luggage with you? Anything that had your name on it?" Oliver asked as he set about his routine of checking the blades of his knifes and feeding them into their slots.  
Felicity nodded even though he wasn't facing her. "My suitcase," she admitted. "Once we'd done a fly over we were going to double back and camp on the beach where I picked up a signal from your life craft."

Oliver threw the quiver onto his back and nodded resolutely; he had his task.  
"I'll need to find it. The less they know about you, the better."

He made it to the doorway before Felicity grabbed his elbow and pulled him back.  
"Who is they?" she pleaded, her voice fraught with both anger and fear.  
He shrugged her off without meeting her eyes; knowing his weren't as stoic as he needed them to be.  
"You can't keep me in the dark anymore Oliver," she argued, her voice breaking around the edges like a brittle shard of glass. "As much as you clearly hate the fact I'm here, I am!" She could feel the vomit creeping up her throat once again, but she forced it back down with a jarring swallow. "I should know what's going on don't you think?"

He pursed his lips and forced himself to not react to her shaky pleas; still so sure that Felicity was better off not knowing the evil that lay across the other side of the island, or the one standing very near to her.

"Stay…," he started.  
"Don't you dare tell me to stay here," Felicity interrupted angrily.  
"…Here," he finished.

He watched her chest deflate and her shoulders shudder, and while it hurt him to watch, keeping her safe meant keeping her hidden. She was hidden here.

"Who is they?" she rallied with soul-piercing azure eyes.  
"They are the people who will find you and kill you unless you kill them first? Have you ever killed a person Felicity? Ever watched as the life drained from their eyes and their blood ran into the lines of your palms? Have you ever had to make the decision that it's them or me?"

His voice was raised, his tone bitter and biting; it was better that maybe she feared him a little too – after all, Oliver wasn't a saint. His hands weren't clean. His ledger was red.

Felicity didn't answer, falling a step backwards as his words stabbed her ears.  
"I didn't think so." He threw back the fabric door, but his heart was treacherous and he instantly regretted the indignant way he'd just spoke. "Just stay here," he urged as he stood, turned slightly, in the doorway. "There is food and water."

Her frame was sallow and her shoulders were slumped forward while her slender arms wrapped as tightly as they could around her waist; but she still didn't answer.

"Please. Just stay here."  
The last words Oliver spoke before he left, with a rueful and heavy heart.

But it was better that way.

**/**

Oliver came back early evening, or late afternoon, depending on a person's definition of either, but the sun was closer in its descent to the horizon and the sky was marbled in hues of pink and orange. He had two fresh fish hung on wire and slung over his shoulder, a barely-tempered smile on his lips, and dragging a fuchsia overnight case behind.

It was dented and scratched from when he pulled it free from the tree it had lodged itself in, but it was still in one piece, surprisingly, and it was Felicity's based on the little luggage tag, oddly in the shape on an old fashioned English telephone box.

He didn't understand the reference and had spent the last 10 minutes of his walk composing a discussion that might ease some of the tension he'd walked out on that morning.

He shuffled his shoulders and shook out his upper body before he pulled back the curtain and stepped inside their abode.

It was empty.

His smile vanished instantly and a breath hitched in his throat.

He didn't even register for a few beats just how impeccably tidy it was or how palm fronds were woven into each other and spread across the floor like a mat.

Because it was empty.

He dashed to the cockpit with a breath held, but that small space was also empty; echoingly so.  
"Shit," Oliver cursed under his breath, a mix of guilt and frustration; he hadn't exactly left on the best terms.

He bolted outside and his head snapped furiously around the surroundings searching for any clue; a broken branch, a footprint, a torn scrap of clothing, to tell him which direction she might have gone in, when a little hand grabbed at his leg.

His attention shot downwards to find Ben smiling up at him.  
"The girl, where is the girl?" Oliver asked, panic set in the tone of his voice as his hands made gestures down the side of his head to illustrate Felicity's long hair; his own was pulled back and fastened into a bun near the nape of his neck.

Ben bounced his whole body in an excited nod before he took off due-North, with Oliver following hotly behind. When Ben slowed near the sound of cascading water, so did Oliver. He knew where they were; just beyond the line of trees in front of him was the lagoon, and as he creeped closer he could see Felicity bathing in it.

He cracked a stick underfoot and Felicity turned directly towards where he was standing just behind the treeline, but instead of making his presence known, Oliver immediately ducked down into the shadows of a mossy and rotund tree that had undoubtedly seen a century already.

Felicity squinted into the thicket just ahead of her, carefully watching for any movement until Ben scampered from behind the curtain of leaves. She exhaled the breath she hadn't been aware she had been holding as a smile lifted up the corners of her pale lips.

"Oh it's just you," she chuckled as he clambered up a tree which had a branch that overhung the lagoon.

The little primate had been keeping an eye on her since she had walked from the plane and straight into the frigid water about an hour beforehand. In the embrace of the icy, but fresh water Felicity had stripped down and washed her clothes with a bar of soap she'd stumbled across in one of the overhead cabinets.

Clutching the clothes to her chest she'd crept out of the lagoon and flung them over branches she could reach and bounded back into the chilly water, with a bottle of shampoo fisted in her hand.

It wasn't in English – except for the word "Shampoo" – but Felicity needed to wash the last few days away and at the time jumping into an opal-blue lagoon seemed like a good idea.

"What did you bring me this time?" she asked with a delicate laugh framing her words. The last two times Ben had disappeared back into the jungle and returned with something, the first time it was a banana, which she'd eaten, the second time it was a flower, which he'd accidentally dropped into the water before she could take it from his little spindly fingers.

But his little brown hands were empty.

Oliver slowed his breathing to quieten the thumping sound of his heart pounding into his chest as he peeked through the criss-cross of branches. He could hear what Felicity was saying as Ben swung down from the tree branch, making her laugh, and the splendour he saw which danced off her smiling cheeks and caught the falling sun was transcendently breath-taking.

Pulling his eyes away from Felicity for a moment, Oliver noticed her panties and bra hanging from a little grove of trees near the lagoon's edge. He swallowed, rigidly, at the realisation that she was naked, and it didn't take long for his cock to get the message either; swelling behind the thread-bare weave of his underwear.

"It's nice of you to be worried, but I'm fine Benjamin," Felicity peeped as she reached up and scratched his head. "Does he call you Benjamin or is it just Ben?" she wondered aloud before she laughed mockingly at herself.

"Well you're a much cuter Wilson," Felicity remarked, referencing Castaway in an effort to forgive herself for the fact she was attempting to engage a monkey in a conversation.

Oliver instinctively stretched himself forward, watching in the shadows as beads of water rolled down Felicity's slender arm as she held it up. Every droplet was like an insatiable torment as they weaved over her silken skin. He knew it was soft, his fingers were still indelibly stamped with the feeling of it. He imagined gripping it, feeling it flex and pull taut under his strong fingers. He could feel the desire writhing up his throat and aching to be let out. The throb became hauntingly rhythmic as his blood boiled beneath his skin.

He couldn't.  
He couldn't let it out.

Felicity dipped her head under the water and brushed back her silky mane like a painter's rendition of sin itself. The top rounds of her breasts rose just above the surface, and as Oliver focused his eyes he could see, even at that distance, a dappling of goosebumps that feathered across her milky complexion and the fine blades of golden hair they lifted.

His whole body tensed and his skin was on fire. His breath became heavy in his throat and his fingers twisted into the trunk of the tree he was hiding beside, tearing a hole in its bark. The scent of her teased the air passing through his nostrils, tormenting every breath he took.

Visions of her throat, red with desire and swanned to his mouth, clouded his sight as he imagined nipping the thin threads, hearing her panted sighs echoing through his brains, and her soft body caught under his; writhing, naked, and wet.

Oliver caught himself as his temperature spiked and forced his eyes away, severing his view, but he could still hear how the water sloshed around her body when she moved or the delicate, slightly shivered breaths she took.

He fell back into the deeper parts of the jungle until her voice was lost to him and his blood began to cool. When his pulse had settled, Oliver stood up and took a few steps towards the lagoon before he called her name.

Felicity startled and dropped her body under the crystal water, before backing herself towards the waterfall that churned up the water to make it less transparent.

"Oliver?" she replied, barely above the sound of the cascading curtain of water behind her, but he appeared from behind the treeline into the clearing waving his hand subtly near his thigh.

Only her head and neck were visible as Felicity tread the water with her feet and clutched her arms across her chest.

"You're back?" she spoke loudly over the water, but flustered by it's deafening volume, Felicity moved a little closer to the shore, all while keeping her body hidden under the water. "I wasn't sure when you would be."

He didn't respond, at least not with any noise that carried, and Felicity found herself wading a little closer, still very conscious that she was stark naked.  
"I found some shampoo and soap in one of the cupboards," she babbled between her chattering teeth. "I hope you don't mind me using it."  
Oliver smiled, keeping his attention on her eyes. "No, that's fine," he responded. After all, he had gotten it for her.

Felicity, suddenly aware that she was currently naked in a body of water on an island she knew nothing about, began to question her decision as her teeth fretted with her bottom lip.

"Um," she hummed as she glanced around the pure water. "Are there leeches in here?"  
"If there were you'd probably already know by now," Oliver answered, but his teasing answer wasn't appreciated.  
"Just tell me," Felicity huffed as she squeezed her thighs together.  
"The waterfall churns the water up too much and the bottom is rocky," he began to explain but Felicity's expression wasn't getting any more placated. "No leeches," he assured her, "possibly as few water snakes but..."  
Oliver never had a chance to finish his sentence as Felicity screamed and ran towards the bank, completely forgetting about her nakedness.

Her full and perky breast caught his eyes immediately, firm with rosy tips that were coiled into tight buds, likely a result of the chilly water. They looked delectable and sharp; so much so that one might cut their tongue on them, or slice of them across famished lips.

Felicity ran until the water was barely covering her lower half and then she stopped dead. She was naked, completely devoid of a single scratch of clothing, and her blonde locks were not nearly long enough to hang over her shoulders and hide her shivering breasts.

Oliver looked away before she noticed the ravenous flecks of black in his polluted eyes. Her arms quickly banded around her chest and she stood, frozen, with no easy choice to make; her clothes were still wet and with Oliver back, her idea of air drying in the plane seemed nearly impossible...as did the naked dash she was going to have to do to get there.

"They won't bite you," Oliver finished his sentence sheepishly.

"I don't suppose you have a towel or something I could wrap around my body?" Felicity asked, her words quivered as they dropped from her mouth.  
Oliver tore off his shirt and climbed the same tree Ben had with effortless agility before he sat on the overhanging limb and handed Felicity his balled up top.

Making sure one arm was enough to cover her flattened boobs, Felicity took the top. Once it was in her hands, Oliver moved, light-footed and athletically across the branch, as Felicity curiously watched and wondered how he wasn't still limping. Those thoughts however were soon overshadowed by an imagined feeling brushing around her ankles; snakes.

"Could you please turn around?" Felicity pleaded, her voice a pitch or two higher by the end of the request.  
Oliver nodded and turned his attention towards the jungle; although he could still hear the water moving as Felicity waded through it, and he caught an arid whiff of her fear on the air.

What she was afraid of Oliver couldn't tell; but there was plenty she should be afraid of.

Felicity watched the muscles of Oliver's back flex and release, and expand with each deep, chesty breath. He still wore brutal scars but in that light Felicity realised they certainly weren't fresh.

When only her feet were in the water, Felicity pulled the borrowed tee over her head and fed her arms through the short sleeves. The muddy green cotton swam over her petite frame with the sleeves grazing her elbows and the hem brushing the middle of her thighs, but even the gaping fabric clung to certain parts with the dampness of her skin gluing the fabric to her breasts and hips. She angled her shoulders down so her arms covered what she could of her peaked breasts before she coughed, a signal she was done.

"Are you finished?" Oliver confirmed with his back still to her.  
Felicity glanced down at the shrink wrap effect of the cotton around her thighs; it wasn't going to get any better standing there.

His shirt was a little musky and wearing it probably defeated the purpose of washing, but she could still smell the soap she'd used and he didn't smell all that bad, which was surprising given his caveman exterior.

She ran to collect her clothes and bundled the dripping outfit into her hands.  
"Ah yes," she answered quietly.  
Oliver turned around, but he didn't look at her, in fact it was as though he was looking right past her and Felicity even glanced over her shoulder to see if there was something there; but all she saw was tree, and more trees.

"You shouldn't bathe out here alone," Oliver remarked flatly before he started towards the slightly trampled path she'd followed to get there.  
Felicity followed, walking two fast steps to try to match his one stride. "I wasn't alone, Ben was with me," she quipped, barely keeping pace with him.  
He turned his head as if he meant to speak to her, but once again his eyes never met hers. "It's not safe." His voice was dry and stoic and his eyes were cold.  
"Well I couldn't stay cooped up in that plane another day and you haven't exactly told me what's going on so I wouldn't know what dangers there even are," Felicity huffed as they reached the clearing where the plane sat.

He heard her feet still and he snapped his head back towards where she had stopped. He forced his eyes up but not before he saw the way the green fabric melted around her curved hips, the carnal feeling was instant as they clouded his thoughts, and it took every fibre of strength Oliver had to force himself to look away.

"The people on this island shot down your plane to protect what they're doing here," he answered her gruffly, his voice biting and rough. But Felicity was so easily dissuaded.  
"What are they doing here?"  
He sighed as a hand hung from his neck. It was apparently Felicity wasn't going to stop asking and if he didn't contain or control how much she knew, she might go looking for answers herself.

"Tomorrow," he relented with a sigh. "I'll show you tomorrow."

He pulled back the camouflaged curtain and ushered Felicity inside. She didn't hesitate and quickly ran inside.

Felicity stopped in her tracks when she saw something familiar on the cot.  
"My suitcase!" she shrieked.  
Oliver smiled from the edge of the entrance where she couldn't see him, but when she turned his eyes dropped to the ground and he tightened his lips to keep them straight, almost terse.  
"You found my suitcase, but how?" she breathed in disbelief; the mathematical probability of finding it was infinitesimal, yet there it was sitting on the bed in front of her.  
Oliver shrugged and his big toes ground into the dirt. "Stumbled across it," he lied.

He could smell her excitement and her scent made the air taste fruity.  
"And I got dinner, I hope you like fish," Oliver added hastily.  
Felicity looked at him wide-eyed and ethereal. "I do."  
His tongue slid across his lips; he could taste her joy on every particle of air. "Get dressed, I'll get some wood for the fire and light it when you're done."

He left before Felicity could thank him.

Felicity hung her wet clothes on a line she'd strung up earlier across one corner of the space and, after looking over her shoulder to be sure she was alone, Felicity took off Oliver's shirt and draped it over the back of the chair.

The air was stagnant in the wreckage and surprisingly warm so Felicity decided to 'air dry' while she looked through her suitcase. The plastic outer was dented and scraped but when she opened it, she was awed at how seemingly undisturbed everything seemed.

Granted Felicity was both a careful and strategic packer and everything fit together like a perfect puzzle, but knowing it had flown from the air and landed from a height, she was still floored at what she was seeing.

She touched a few items as she remembered her excitement while she packed them; it might have only been a few days ago but it might as well have been a lifetime ago and Felicity cursed her naive exuberance.

But dwelling on that wouldn't do her any good either. She studied each item in her toiletry bag, wondering how long she might need to ration it all; toothpaste, moisturiser, lip gloss... The feeling became overwhelming and Felicity zipped the same back up while she promised herself that decision could wait for now.

She found a clean pair of panties and, after touching her skin and finding it dry, Felicity dressed. She had only packed one bra and it was drip drying to get the stench of smoke off it, so she made her peace with going braless.

After finding a pair of grey yoga pants and a black tank top with a racer back and a shelf bra, Felicity dressed and threw a light-knit cardigan over the top. She smirked at the sight of the red bikini swimsuit she had packed, it was almost humorous how so very wrong Felicity had been about this island.

She zipped it up and tucked it near Oliver's trunk, and for a brief moment she noticed the stark contrasts between the two; his old and heavy, immovable and resigned to it's fate, while hers, light and pink, spoke of hopes that might be utterly naive. Him and her, perfectly represented in their luggage.

She gave the inanimate object one last nod before she wandered outside and found Oliver skewering a large fish with a sharpened stick.

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled, she had also quickly braided her damp hair and was wearing her glasses. She caught his smile and offered him one in return as her slender fingers brushed loose tendrils of hair behind her ear. She winced as she'd forgotten the graze on her forehead and her fingertips felt like sandpaper against it.

That reminded her.  
"How is your leg?" she asked as her eyes scoured his pants, perhaps expecting a darkened patch of blood.  
Oliver tensed briefly. "It's fine," he answered. "How are the fresh clothes?" he added quickly.  
"Amazing, thank you," she hummed while she hugged the baggy cardigan against her chest. "But maybe I should take a look at your leg. I could change your bandage or clean it, whatever it needs?" Felicity offered, aware that he'd been walking around on it all day, and found her suitcase in the process.

He shook his head. "I just looked, it's fine."  
There was something brittle about his voice, but Felicity decided not to push it and she simply nodded, assuming being away from people for four years in this makeshift bunker could make anyone a little tetchy.

He carried a load of wood to the fire pit and stacked it carefully.

"What's with the floor?" he asked and Felicity's face lit up.  
"I was wondering if you'd notice," she chuckled as her toes circled the plaited flax. "If I was going to be stuck as your little plane-wreck house-wife then I figured I might as well spruce up the place."

He lit the dry grass and smirked at her sprightly laugh.  
"I also thought we could have a roster for the bed," Felicity added as Oliver stood up.  
"We don't need to," he responded as he turned to face her.

He watched as the smile fell from her lips. "Oliver, I'm not an idiot," she breathed sombrely. "If you had been able to get off this island in the last four years, you would have." A shaky inhale. "Which means I don't know when or if I'll get off it either." The finality of her words stung her throat but she needed to say them, understand them, make her peace with them. "A roster is fair."

Her eyes were wet and the corners of her lips were quaking; she was barely holding back a sob, and she could only stall it a moment longer before she was angrily brushing spent tears away from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I've done more crying in the last two days than I've done in years," she cried with an apologetic smile barely holding on her lips. "How did you do it? How did you survive the feeling in your soul?"

Oliver didn't think, and nor did he answer her question, he just pulled her a little closer and Felicity fell against his chest, crying quietly.

"You don't need to be sorry for anything Felicity," he whispered into the top of her head. "It will be alright."

That wasn't a truth he knew, but it was something she needed to hear it; so he said it.

**read also on AO3 ****user**** Vixx2pointOh **

**Twitter/Tumblr someonesaidcake **


	7. Black

**/four years ago**

Black.

The colour of the thickest night.  
The void where light disappears.

Suffocating and still hollowness.

Nothingness.

It engulfed him until there was nothing but an abyss of black. No up, no down. No forward, no backwards; just cold, dark…nothing.

Oliver stopped struggling, the weight of the pull as the boat sunk beneath him was beyond his strength to fight. He was tired. He would rest now.

He closed his eyes and the last thing on his mind was sorry.

Realising what he'd done, how stupid he'd been – he was sorry. He didn't expect forgiveness; there was no one around to give it, but he was sorry all the same.

Then there was a jolt, sudden and startling. It went up – or at least he thought it did – and with whatever he had left remaining, Oliver kicked his legs with it.

He broke free from the surface of the water and gasped instinctively. The blackness opened up to an array of blinding stars and the haunting glow of a full moon. It was his father, draped over the edge of a life raft, who had him by the scruff of his neck.

Oliver clambered aboard the small inflatable where his father and a crew member were all that was left of the 10 souls on board.

For a moment Oliver felt relief as his head dropped back against the buoyant edge, it wouldn't be long till they were found and he could say his apologies in person.

It wouldn't be long.

**/10 days later**

The other crew member was dead. He died somewhere around day 4 as an infection from a wound in his leg poisoned his blood. Robert Queen took his wallet to return to his family before they rolled him over the edge of the boat.

The splash as he hit the water sounded more like a thud and just the small act of lifting the 180 pound man up onto the edge of a boat had expended more energy than Oliver had to give freely. He slipped in and out of consciousness as the ocean waves steadily rocked the drifting coffin.

There was no food left and very little drinkable water – the torment of being surrounded by water but slowly becoming dehydrated was an abhorrent and cruel torture Oliver had cursed at many a time.

They had tried to remain focused, but as a week stretched towards two without a hint of land or rescue, the father and son couldn't keep up the façade much longer.

"Where should we go for Christmas this year?" Robert coughed, his throat was dry and his voice was hoarse.  
Oliver patted his chapped lips. "Somewhere cold," he joked, but his laugh was splintered and flaky at best.  
"How about Switzerland?"  
Oliver stared up at the orange sun shade flapping in the slight breeze. "Switzerland would be nice," he remarked as his eyes lulled closed.  
"Your mother always liked it there," the older man reminisced in the high, beating sun.  
Oliver nodded faintly; even though he wasn't sure his father could see.

"Thea too," he continued, and for a moment Oliver considered telling his father to conserve his energy. "Your mother was a far better woman than I deserved."  
Oliver chuckled silently to himself; the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree. Not that Oliver loved Laurel, but he kept her tucked in his back pocket because he could, and regardless of their tumultuous relationship she did deserve something better, someone that wasn't him.

"You're a good kid Oliver, you deserve a chance to show that."  
Oliver lifted his head fractionally off the edge of the life raft, bent on telling his father some hopeful anecdote that might prolong their despair a little. But when his eyes caught sight of his dad, the sun reflected off something small and metallic in his hand.

Dehydrated and dizzy from sun exposure, it took Oliver too long to recognise the cylindrical shape pressed to his father's temple.

"You survive for us son. You get back to your mother and you tell her she's a good woman, and she deserves to find happiness. You tell her that."  
Arid tears blistered down the older man's face as he pulled back the hammer of the pistol.

"Dad, No!" Oliver screamed, his voice broken and guttural. But he moved in slow motion, his head foggy and his reaction times dulled, and by the time he was able to pull his body up the shot rung out and his father's lifeless body slumped onto the floor of the boat.

**/two days later**

Unable and unwilling to commit his father to the watery depths of the ocean, Oliver had torn half the sunshade off the life raft and wrapped it around his father's body and banished himself to the other end of the boat, huddled in the corner, waiting for death. There was another bullet in the gun and there were at least three times in the previous two days where he'd pressed the unmalleable end of it so deep into his temple that it hurt; but he could never pull that trigger.

Whether it was out of fear or hope, Oliver didn't know. But the pistol sat by his feet tormenting him all the same. The water was all but gone now and Oliver didn't remember the last time he had eaten.

He would die here.  
He would die with regrets and apologies.  
He would die knowing he'd never really been in love, never found that person who got his heart racing (over the thump of his cock). He'd never thought about kids more than briefly, but he would have like at least two. The pitter-patter of bare feet on the floor early on Saturday mornings, shared giggles underneath a blanket fort, little fingers and little toes… all lost to him now.

He would die here.

He hadn't found his future wife yet, but in his hazy sun-baked dreams, he imagined her smaller than him so his arms could completely envelope her. He imagined her smart, intrepid, and determined. Commercial beauty didn't matter to him, but she would be a goddess in his eyes and he would be sure than every morning and every night he stole away a moment to tell her that.

The sound of squawking birds tore Oliver's attention away from his vivid but unreachable dreams and he flung himself across the life raft as birds circled and dive-bombed his father's lifeless husk.

He hurled his arms around wildly as he screamed noises that weren't words. They were small birds, scavengers trying for an easy meal and Oliver was barely keeping them at bay when a sudden thought occurred to him – they never travelled that far from land.

His eyes shot up and after he saw it the first time he fisted his hands into his eyes, blinked and saw it a second time. Land in the distance.

But, the current was dragging the raft sideways and if he allowed it to continue he would float right on past.

Oliver attempted to paddle with his arms over the side of the raft, dredging though the water without rhythm, but all he was doing was splashing salt on his sunburnt face. He couldn't jump out and swim, the distance was too great and he wasn't parched and sun-addled enough to imagine there weren't sharks nearby, being dragged along by the scent of blood and death.

But the raft was too heavy for him to navigate and he was left with very little choice.

He took the wedding ring off his father's rigid hand and took his wallet from the pocket of his tan pants before he closed his eyes and made one last apology.

Robert Queen's body bobbed on the surface of the water for only a second before it sunk down into the sapphire depths.

"Goodbye dad," Oliver whispered between tears, as his father's last words echoed through his head – survive for us.

He reached the shore after what seemed like days, though it wasn't. His arms were like burning jelly and every breath he took was a sharp pain to his chest, but when Oliver collapsed onto the sandy shore all he could feel was utter, euphoric relief.

After a few moments, or even perhaps minutes, Oliver plucked himself up off the ground and stumbled towards the shady overgrowth of the jungle. He didn't know where he was heading but either way the canopy of thick trees would bring him much needed relief from the scorching sun.

Just beyond the ridgeline of trees he heard the sound of trickling water. He ran towards it with a vigour he didn't know he possessed and Oliver soon found a small, somewhat murky river that grew wider and deeper the further inland he looked.

He tore off his shirt and threw it into the water, drenching it before he dropped the sodden cotton onto his head. The relief was instant and almost painful as he ran further upstream hoping to find a source he could drink from.

He found it through a clearing, it wasn't a large pond and the bottom looked dark with sediment, but Oliver couldn't care less as he crouched at the edge and splashed water onto his face, catching some in his mouth.

He was so consumed by it that Oliver never heard the rustle of tree branches or the sound of feet shuffling through the undergrowth; he never even knew they were there until something sharp 'bit' his neck and he fell backwards onto the mossy ground.

He blinked up at men in what looked to him like army fatigues, and then nothing.

Just darkness.

Back to black.

**/**

Oliver startled awake in a cold sweat while the night was still heavy. Through the dying fire he could see Felicity curled up on the chair where she had insisted she spend the night as per her roster, with her blanket fallen onto her lap.

He couldn't help but notice how it was the same chair that he often found himself crammed into, knocking his body against the metal braces under the arms, or struggling to find any sort of semblance of comfort, and yet, Felicity's shoulders barely met the edges and her knees tucked up onto the seat with just her feet dangling over the edge.

She was so much smaller than him.  
He was so much larger than her.

He looked down at his hand, large and foreboding. He knew the hand belonged to him in that it was attached to his body, but as he imagined the blood pulsing through it, it felt foreign, alien.

Oliver sighed softly, regrettably, as he looked up at the curving roof above him. Tomorrow he had promised her answers. But there was only so much he could part with, only so much she could know.

**/**

It was morning, but the sun was still fresh in the cloudy sky as Felicity walked out of the plane in a clean pair of shorts and the same black tank top. Her bra was still damp but after checking and re-checking she was fairly certain it wasn't obvious that she was sans bra. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and she was sporting tightly laced shoes, ready for their promised exploration.

Oliver offered her a mug of hot coffee which she accepted with a grateful smile before he nodded down to a sliced mango he'd prepared for her. She had to consciously stop herself from groaning as the sweet, succulent fruit passed through her lips and exploded on her taste buds.

Oliver didn't say a word, but he did smile as he watched the happiness radiate from her dewy skin. He hadn't seen happy in so long, he'd begun to wonder if it was an emotion he was even capable of anymore.

Felicity finished the first slice and made short work of the second before she went in for a third. "How is your leg?" she asked. The ache in her ribs was dull now, but her arm still pinched with the occasional burst of pain and she didn't imagine a bullet wound – even a superficial one – would hurt any less than either of her two injuries.

"It's fine, nothing to worry about," he answered stiffly.  
Felicity got the sense he was holding something back, but she wanted answers today about who else was on the island and why, and sparking an argument over him trying to act tough seemed like a pointless exercise.

So she let it go with a smile and ate the rest of her mango in peace, although not without noting that Oliver looked decidedly uncomfortable.

"It'll probably rain today," he remarked, under his breath but Felicity assumed when he looked at her afterwards that he still expected an answer.  
"I got my flu shots," Felicity answered; it seemed this island brought out her sarcasm too.

She watched as he tangled his fingers into his hair and looked grimly up at the sky. It was overcast, sure, but to Felicity it didn't seem like a monsoon was heading their way any time soon.

"It's a long walk," he grumbled, that time refraining from making eye contact.  
"I never miss leg day at the gym."  
When his head snapped towards her he was grimaced, but when her smile refused to leave her face she noted his frown starting to crack.  
"You'll have to do everything I tell you to."  
She nodded, thrice, "I already agreed to that the first two times you told me that this morning, and the four times you said it last night."  
"I'm just making sure because…," he started.  
She smirked and he fought off the reaction to do the same. "…because it's a long walk," she finished, mimicking his gruffly voice.

He looked at her deadpan and blinked, just once. "I don't sound like that."  
"You kinda do," she teased dropping her head towards one shoulder.  
"I don't," he said more firmly.  
Felicity was amused at just how far under his skin her slight impersonation was getting; but she still needed a guide.  
"Okay, you totally don't sound all gruffly and brooding, not at all," she answered with a playful frown.  
"I might have been away from civilisation for a while, but I can still recognise sarcasm when I hear it," he insisted sternly, but the slight chuckle Felicity couldn't hold back saw him crack a smile he also couldn't hide.

"We should get going," Oliver soon remarked as he drew back his smile and tucked the final knife into his belt.  
"Lead the way."

They had walked over an hour in almost absolute silence, Oliver leading with Felicity following his barefoot tracks a few steps behind. The only noise that accompanied them was the slapping of branches and fronds that they navigated through, and the occasional ruffle from the tree canopy above as birds grew bothered by their presence, albeit passing.

Ben was often not too far behind, scampering in and out of their path before disappearing up tall, slender tree trucks and reappearing some time later ahead of them, dangling from a solid branch.

"Why does he follow you?" Felicity asked when Ben dashed through the undergrowth and disappeared into the other side.  
Oliver looked over his shoulder at Felicity, as though he was surprised she was talking and for those few seconds that he looked at her Felicity chewed nervously on the inside of her cheeks; perhaps it was a common courtesy or unwritten rule that you never spoke while traipsing through an uninhabited jungle!

"He doesn't really have anyone else I suppose," Oliver shrugged before he turned back and continued walking.  
"Doesn't he have a group?" Felicity commented. She had seen them herself when they'd led her to Oliver.  
Oliver kept looking straight ahead, but he did answer her without much pause. "Yes and no. He has a family group, but his mother was killed and he was orphaned when he was very young. They are amused by him, but he is an outsider."  
"How did his mother die?" Felicity asked, hastening her steps so she was only half a step behind Oliver and walking just beside his shoulder.  
"Poachers," he replied grimly as his eyes studied his feet for what would have been a second at most.  
"Are those the people on this island?"  
His face contorted into a shallow and breathy laugh, as if to say he wished that was all they were and Felicity decided to steer the question somewhere else for at least a little while.

"Why the name Ben?"  
Oliver's face relaxed and the slight hint of a smile floated over it. "When my mother was pregnant with Thea I was convinced she would be a boy and I wanted to call him Ben."  
"I wanted a baby brother, or a sister, I wasn't fussy," Felicity chuckled in a moment of brevity.  
"Only child?" Oliver asked and Felicity had to pause to mask her surprise; she was fairly certain that was the second question he'd asked her during the whole 4 days she'd been there.

When she didn't answer, Oliver's brow furrowed and he went to apologise for asking. But Felicity cut him short, answering before he could.  
"Just me and my mom. I don't know my dad and from what I can tell it's better that way."  
"Not such a great guy?"  
"Accordingly to my mother he was a pretty terrible person."  
"And what do you think?"

Felicity fell out of step with Oliver's stride as the question stung her heart like a sudden shock; that was a question she so frequently asked herself but she could never find a straight answer to give.

"I don't know," she replied weakly, pausing in the undergrowth of a large tree.  
Oliver turned when he felt the change in her demeanour, catching notes of her distress on the slight breeze. "Did you need to rest?" he asked while he noted the slight tremor in her breathing and the beads of perspiration that formed around her hairline and clavicle.

She shook her head and feigned a smile, but the uneven, splintered sound of her heartbeat said otherwise.  
"There is a small clearing about five minutes away, we'll stop there," Oliver decided as they both started off again.

The clearing was a small spot alongside a downward flowing river where a large, ancient looking tree, sat, almost barren and leaning at a 90 degree angle with the ground, but still with roots that refused to give up.

All the surrounding trees were pushed the same way and a few, ripped up from the roots, were all witnesses of the sudden and ferocious winds that could batter the island and sweep down that valley.

Felicity sat on one such fallen tree, masking the throbbing pain down her arm with a tentative smile as Oliver offered her the water canister.  
"Do you think your mother will be wondering where you are?" Oliver asked. He wasn't looking at Felicity as she took a drink or when he spoke; his eyes instead roved around the thick forest surrounding them.  
"I told her I was going on holiday and they didn't have the internet where I was going, I don't expect she will yet," Felicity replied sullenly. She had tried not to think of how little she might be missed back home. At Moira's request they had kept everything rather clandestine and even Moira herself wasn't expecting to hear from Felicity for at least another week or so.

It was unsettling how easily Felicity felt she could simply fade into obscurity.

Oliver kept his eyes carefully trained on the patches of clouds he could see through the gap in the tree canopy above. "She believed that?" he asked.  
"She believes a lot of things she probably shouldn't."  
Felicity shrugged, but the movement caused her to wince and bite the air.

The sound was nearly silent, but he heard it and his head swung directly towards Felicity.  
"It still hurts?" he asked before he narrowed his gaze towards her shoulder.  
She tried to appease him with a slight shake of her head. "No it's fine," she added, her cheery tone trying to balance out the slight tremble in her throat.

But Oliver wasn't fooled. He could see it in the beads of perspiration that settled in her temples and misted the slope of her neck; she was in pain.

However, Oliver drew back, allowing Felicity to believe she had made enough of a case to be believed. At least for now.

"We should get going, it's going to rain," Oliver remarked candidly as the air felt heavy and damp with every breath he took. "Are you sure you want to keep going?"

Felicity handed Oliver the water canister before she stood up and nodded decisively; after all she hadn't trekked all this way to simply turn around and walk back again.

**/**

The track soon climbed upwards, weaving through sparser amounts of trees as the climate and conditions became more perilous for them to grow there. The ground plateaued a few times, but only for a little while before they continued climbing up. At times it felt like they were clambering up the sheer face of a mountain and hot tears occasionally sprung from Felicity's eyes as the pain in her shoulder became worse.

But, religiously Felicity kept her cheeks free from the wet droplets so that every time Oliver turned back to check on her, he was given no cause for concern.

She wasn't fooling him though.

They reached what felt like a summit, but Felicity refused to take the respite for granted as they began trudging along the level terrain.

She no longer knew how long they had been walking, but it was almost unbelievable how small the island had looked as she had flown over it, and yet its terrain and landscape meant navigating it on foot was both time consuming and exhausting.

"The next part is steep," Oliver commented as he slowed his pace making it easier for Felicity to keep up.  
Felicity gazed over her shoulder at the last incremental climb they had made. "Hasn't it been steep for a while?" she pondered, a slight fret in her voice at the prospect that there might be something more challenging ahead.  
Oliver paused, conspicuously watching the way Felicity held her almost-limp arm at her side. "No, that was a slight incline."

He caught her micro-flinch and he could smell her fear on the crisp breeze. He knew suggesting they turn back now would be scoffed at, but if she continued to act like nothing was wrong she would only make the injury worse.

"Show me your shoulder," he said brusquely as he stepped forward.  
Felicity stepped back. "It's fine, there is nothing wrong with it."  
"You're lying."  
Her lips pursed as she took his comment as a personal affront.  
"If you can walk on a bullet wound, then I can walk with a slight shoulder ache. I said it's nothing," she snipped back stubbornly.  
It might have made him smile; if it wasn't making him frustrated.

"Show me," he demanded.  
"Say please," she retorted.  
He gritted his teeth before his shoulders dropped with a heavy sigh.  
"Please," he breathed, "show me your shoulder."  
Felicity stepped forward and carefully shrugged off the light cardigan she'd kept on. Her shoulder was purple with bruising and swollen at the front, pulling her skin taut.

"Jesus Felicity, you should have told me," he barked and she fell a step backwards, making Oliver instantly regret his tone.  
"I can keep going," she replied; and he actually didn't doubt her given the fire in her eyes.  
"I can ease some of the swelling which should help."  
Felicity nodded softly. "What do you need me to do?"  
"Sit down," Oliver said, carefully selecting his tone so it was neither pushy nor biting.

He must have chosen right as Felicity sat down without biting back. On the slight hill, Oliver positioned himself just behind and above Felicity, with his legs on either side of her.

Carefully he brushed her ponytail over her other shoulder and a sprinkle of prickles lifted off her skin when his knuckles grazed across it. Even his bruised and worn knuckles, disfigured and calloused as they were, could relish the softness of her skin as they passed over it.

The air tasted fragrant as Felicity sighed and Oliver ghosted his hand over the cusp of her shoulder.  
"Just relax," he breathed near her ear and Felicity felt a warm shiver down her spine as his breath pleasingly scolded her neck.

Oliver ground his molars together as his hand cupped over her slender shoulder, skin on skin, and she swanned her neck slowly to one side. It was enough to simply apply a little pressure to the swollen round for Felicity to whimper in his arms before she stapled her bottom lip between her teeth.

He closed his eyes as her aroma danced across his senses, toying with his carefully constructed controls and tempting his caged-beast with freedom. He focused himself carefully as he gently pushed his palm into the front of her shoulder. She sobbed, her head falling backwards in pain, and coming to rest on his chest. Her eyes were screwed shut and her alabaster skin was drained of all colour as Oliver began to gently massage Felicity's shoulder.

He watched carefully as an escaped tear slid slowly down her cheek and he could smell the slight saltiness of it radiating off her skin. He imagined reaching down and plucking it off her cheek with a soft kiss as his body trapped her close to him.

He felt regret coursing through his veins at what he knew needed to happen and as he pressed his lips in close to Felicity's ear, she swore she heard his breath tremble.  
"This will hurt a little," he whispered.  
The bow of her mouth quivered as she offered the faintest of nods while another tear fled from the corner of her eye.

Oliver pushed his palm into the swollen mound as he wrapped his other arm around her waist to keep her still. Instinctively she fought against him as her fingers anchored into his leg, clutching at his thigh.

He rolled the heel of his hand deep into the crevice of her shoulder while she nuzzled her head against his jaw until the pain began to subside. His arm around her svelte waist relaxed first while her eyes fluttered open. Oliver fought every instinct he'd grown, to lean in and inhale the veil of perspiration that glistened in the threads of her neck before Felicity lifted her body from against his.

She looked down at her rigid fingers embedded in Oliver's thigh before she startled out a soft squeal. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, that's your sore leg," she panicked as she pulled away from him and stood straight to her feet. "God, did I hurt it, did I make it worse? Let me see."

Oliver smiled as he pulled himself up from the ground and brushed some dander from his pants. "You weren't anywhere near it, it's fine."

She studied his face for any small fractions of pain, but no matter how hard she looked she couldn't see any; meaning his tolerance was exceptionally high, or he was telling the truth and despite how it looked to her – her nails hadn't gauged another hole in his flesh.

"How is your shoulder?"  
She moved it and was met with no more than a slight pinch. "Better," she answered on top of a breathy sigh. "What did you do?"  
"Just released some of the pressure for now," he answered softly as he stood in front of her, so close that a single sheet of paper could barely pass between them. He gently lifted her fallen cardigan back up onto her shoulder and brushed his thick, rough digit down the side, falling off her body just before it reached her chest. "It should feel better for a little while."

She smiled with doe eyes up at him, noticing the way his brow plucked with indecision.  
"Thank you," she whispered, the sound falling off at the end while her fingers found his draped to his side.

The air between them was palpable as neither stepped back and for tiny, fleeting moments their fingers entwined and danced together at their sides.

The heat was insufferable as the blood coursing through his body became like lava beneath his skin.

It was primal.  
Uncontrollable.  
Dangerous.

The sound of his heart pumping was like the beat of a tribal drum calling the beast out and stripping away his restraints.

What kind of taste would he find on her lips?  
Would it sate his gluttony and quench his thirst?

Felicity rolled her tongue between her lips as she focused her eyes on his, they were pouted, as if words hung on the very edge of them. She could discern his chest, rising and falling with deep and lumbered breaths as they stood so close that their warm, expelled air, danced in swirls together.

She thought she might kiss him because of a pull she could only insist was due to the circumstances she was thrust into, and her mind wandered into a place that wondered whether he would kiss her back; whether his lips weren't parted to speak, but parted to receive her, taste her, and allow her to taste him back.

Felicity swallowed down her apprehension as she lifted her body onto her tiptoes to put their lips almost perfectly parallel. She blinked up at him, stealing a look of his bright azure eyes, rimmed with dark flecks of blue, like a turbulent ocean, before she leaned a little closer and ghosted her lips against his.

He wasn't sure they ever touched, or whether the warmth he felt was from her breathy sigh as she drew closer, before he pulled rigidly away.

Felicity felt his departure like a cool slap of reality across her face and she retreated back onto her flat feet as her arms folded around her middle and her eyes fell, embarrassed, to the ground.

Different versions of the premise 'I'm sorry' swirled around her head, but she couldn't voice a single one of them as Oliver lifted the pack back onto his shoulder and his feet shuffled in the undergrowth.

"We should keep going," he spoke robotically, as he buried himself deeper below the unseen surface.

He couldn't trust himself; and neither should she


	8. Echo

Felicity blinked up the 65 foot sheer cliff face, her mouth gaped and her eyes gawked. He had to be kidding.

"You're kidding right?" she asked as she shivered in the breeze and willed herself not to look back at the height they had already climbed.  
Oliver looked over his shoulder as he checked the rope he'd pulled from the backpack. It was nothing special and Felicity simply watched as he checked it for imperfections before he tied the end of it in what looked like a hangman's noose.

"We go up," he remarked with a cavalier shrug that made Felicity want to kick his shin if she was being honest; and that had nothing to do with the fact he'd not said a word to her since the awkward almost kiss. Absolutely nothing – Felicity groaned, she could hear the sarcasm in her own thoughts.

She didn't want to admit it, but Felicity was fairly sure there wasn't a hope in hell she would be able to make that climb.

Oliver wound the rope across one shoulder and under his arm before he tucked the end around the looped rope. "I'll go up first, tie off the end, and throw the rope down to you." She nodded slowly, listening with a crinkled brow. "Then you climb up and I'll help."

Felicity swallowed the figurative golf ball in her throat as she nodded a second time, slow and arduous.

He could sense her reluctance and he couldn't exactly blame her, while the climb wasn't far it did look particularly perilous. "You'll be fine," he encouraged, holding himself back from making contact with her.

After all, he wasn't an idiot. He'd seen the look in her eyes, he'd felt the warmth of her breath, heck he'd even very nearly kissed her himself. He knew his body was reacting to her, her scent had become tortuous almost, and the attraction was palpable; but his control was paramount – and the loss of it was dangerous.

"Trust me," he added with a softness that Felicity noted, and appreciated.  
And she did.

Felicity watched Oliver scale the rock face with an effortless agility she'd seen on the likes of Ninja Warrior, and before 5 minutes had passed Oliver had reached the top and disappeared from the ledge. She strained her neck arching it backwards in an attempt to see him until he came back to the edge and threw the rope down to her.

She fed the loop on the end of the rope around her waist and tightened it until it felt secure, but she could still breathe. Standing in front of the spire of granite, Felicity inhaled through her clenched teeth and reached up to the first inset carved into the stone.

She did her best to steadily follow the path she'd watched Oliver take, albeit at a pace far more snail than ninja warrior. She kept her eyes focused solely on the next crevice and feeling the taut pull of the rope as Oliver went hand over hand with every step she took, and within 10 minutes Felicity was scrambling over the ledge with a bout of adrenalin coursing through her veins and a nauseous lump in her throat.

"I'm not dead," she panted into the grass beneath her cheek.  
A soft breeze danced with tendrils of her hair as she lay there, admiring the panoramic view. Oliver offered her his hand and reluctantly Felicity took it before she clambered to her feet and brushed some stone dust from her shorts. Her hands were a little grazed and her knuckles were red where the rough stone had sanded off the skin.

Oliver's hands were spotless.

The pads of his fingers were always a little calloused and rough, but not even a single graze marred the backs of his hands; he was clearly better at climbing than she was.

Moving her eyes away from his hand as they fell away from each other, Felicity finally laid her eyes on the magnificent view spread out around her. She turned her head 180 degrees to appreciate the valleys cut into the mountains and the cascading forests that blanketed the island. From where she stood she could see the edge of Lian Yu, with the white sandy shores she remembered flying over and the expanse of vacant blue ocean.

There was nothing for as far as her eyes could see. No dot on the horizon and no boat ambling idly by.

She sucked in a shudder of air as she realised just how isolated they were. The voyage by boat to even be in the vicinity of the island had taken two days from the small island port where the rest of the crew awaited her call. A call that wouldn't come.

She couldn't pinpoint where they had walked from and she wasn't even too sure in which direction the plane was; it was well and truly hidden.

When Oliver tapped her shoulder Felicity turned slowly, taking in the overview of the rest of the island with its jagged and perilous spires, the tops of which seemed to vanish into the clouds. The terrain was formidable and there seemed to be a gully, or deep trench running down half of the island, as though it splintered it roughly in two.

As she continued to shuffle her feet in a slow turn, Felicity's eyes fell where Oliver was pointed and she audibly gulped.  
"You're kidding," she said, deadpan, as her eyes blinked slowly in the hopes the next time she looked it would appear less terrifying.

But it never did, and as Oliver coached her closer towards the narrow wooden bridge made from uneven planks and weathered rope Felicity really thought she was going to vomit.

"Scared of heights?" he asked as he leaned against the anchored pole.  
She had a barrage of questions about who'd made this bridge, how long had it been there, and had he ever actually walked across it? But all she could managed was a soft whimper that sounded like an injured puppy.

"I promise it's a lot sturdier than it looks?"  
She looked up at Oliver with a pinched brow. "It looks like a house of cards built on a yoga ball."  
"That's quite the word picture." He took her hand and gently squeezed it. "It's safe Felicity, I won't let anything hurt you."

All she could do was nod.  
After all, she'd come this far.

Oliver took the first step and while he glanced ahead to sure up his footing, he made sure to look back as Felicity took her first step. She made the mistake of looking down and for a moment as her feet swayed in hazy circles, she saw nothing but empty space below her. Frozen, Felicity's hands clenched the rope handrail until her knuckles turned white.

Oliver tapped her trembling hand and she peeled it off the handrail before he closed his large hand around it.  
"Just a little further," he remarked softly as he inched ahead of her and she had no choice but to follow.

She knew that was a lie, they weren't even a third of the way across, but in that moment she wanted to believe it; so she did. She kept close to Oliver, with her cheek almost leaning against the sculpted mounds of his back, while he gripped her hand tightly and guided her along.

"What do you do at my parents' company?" he asked, fragmenting the silence.  
"Are to trying to distract me so I don't freak out and go catatonic again?" Felicity quipped, and while she chuckled, there was no mistaking the fear in her voice.

Oliver glanced over his shoulder and hitched his eyebrow towards his hairline. "Is it working?"  
A fleeting but genuine smile floated across her lips. Maybe it was.  
"I work in the IT department, for now," Felicity answered while she tried to ignore the slight creak underfoot and the swaying breeze that was threatening to blow her off balance.

"For now?"  
"Well I didn't graduate with two degrees from MIT to sit in the basement deleting porn from work laptops and installing firewalls."  
Oliver chuckled, amused. "No I don't suppose you did."

He took another step.  
"We made it," he remarked and Felicity looked down at her feet, surprised to see solid ground beneath them; instead of gaps of plummeting air.  
"I guess we did."

They stood facing each other for longer than needed and for no reasonable purpose, until Felicity plucked her hand out from between his and forced it into her pocket. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead she saw just beyond his elbow what it was Oliver had dragged her all that way to show her.

Her mouth fell open as she took a few haphazard steps forward.  
"Holy shit, what is that place?"  
"Your answers," Oliver replied stoically watching as Felicity surveyed the compound he'd first laid eyes on 4 years earlier.

**/4 years ago**

Oliver awoke with a throbbing headache and a slight ringing in his ears. The air was arid and stale and every breath he took tasted rancid, like death.

Like his father's corpse.

His bare feet scratched into the concrete floor as he struggled to pull himself up. Finally, Oliver managed to sit up and through squinted eyes and a blinding pain behind them, he saw three walls of stark concrete and one of thick, solid bars of blistered steel. The cube was barely 6 by 4 and in one corner lay a stained and ripped foam mattress and in the opposite corner sat a tin bucket fallen on its side.

"Hello?" Oliver yelled into the abyss. His voice was thin and brittle, but surprisingly loud and he heard it echo off neighbouring walls.

"HELLO?!" Louder. Panicked.  
He heard the scuffle of feet.

Oliver pulled himself up off the floor, ignoring the splintering pain down his spine and ducking to miss the swaying single lightbulb that flickered with its unforgiving stale, white light.

"HELLO?!" He screamed as he lumbered over to the cage door.  
"Keep your voice down," a hushed voice replied brusquely.

When Oliver reached the edges of his cell he couldn't see anything but the same slab of concrete on the opposite side of a small corridor. He tried to twist his head and push it between the bars to see where the voice had come from, but there was nothing but stark concrete.

"Who's there, who's that?" Oliver called out. He heard more movement but no reply came. "Where are we? What is this place?"

There was a distant sound of clanging metal and Oliver heard another scuffle coming from beside his cell.  
"Purgatory. Welcome to purgatory," the same raspy and thin voice answered.

The corridor filled with the same masked men from the jungle, only this time Oliver saw the semiautomatic weapons in their hands. He stumbled away from the edge of the cell and fell back against the far wall.

Only one turned his head towards Oliver but not a single word was said as the four massive men marched past Oliver's cell. There was a loud clunk followed by the screams of a man who begged to be left alone.

Oliver heard the first punch land, the resonating sound of it was unlike anything he'd experienced and there was nothing he could do to block out the curdling, echoed cries of a broken man.

Just as suddenly as they had entered, the group of men left, dragging a fifth man in torn trousers along behind them.

With the clunk of a heavy metal door, Oliver was alone again with only the echo of his trembling breath for company.

**/present day**

Felicity took the binoculars Oliver handed to her, they were the sort you'd find in a museum, or around Indiana Jones' neck, but they did the job all the same.

It was an encampment surrounded by tall chain fences topped with twisting curls of razor wire. At a guess Felicity would say it was about the size of a football field cut into the middle of the dense forest; although a slightly longer, narrow stretch of cleared ground appeared to be a runway that ran off the end of the elevated plateau. From their vantage point above it was hard for Felicity to tell how far the drop was at the end of the runway, but she guess it was high enough that the delineated gap in the trees wasn't apparent to anyone standing below it.

There were two towers that peeked out above the tops of the trees, at opposite corners either end of the encampment. There were no roads, but a circuit of tire tracks wove around what looked to be semi-permanent tents, and out a gate at the far end which dissipated into a faint track under the canopy of the jungle.

Of the tents, Felicity counted five. Two large, square ones down by the gate and two smaller ones towards the other end. There was also an octagonal one, smaller in size than the rest, but clearly of more importance as it was set closer into the corner and appeared to have a makeshift fence around it.

There was also a small cinderblock building, no larger than a single toilet stall, erected close to where the gate and one of the towers sat. The door on it was heavy, some sort of metal possibly, and a heavily armoured guard stood outside it.

He wasn't the only one she saw, there were a few people milling around, moving in and out of the tents, maybe 20 in total, but it was hard for Felicity to know if she had counted one more than once, or missed one, as they all wore the same dark army fatigues.

It looked like a few were roaming outside the gates and she could see the faint outlines of a few inside the two towers, putting the total somewhere likely around 50.

It seemed impossible that Felicity could have flown over this part of the island and not seen the encampment, but she was seeing it now with her own eyes, leading her to believe they must not have made it this far, and perhaps given the fact it seemed sandwiched between two substantial mountain ranges and a low lying cloud cover seemed to loom just above it – perhaps that would explain why the pilot hadn't flown that way first.

She peeled the binoculars from her eyes with a disbelieving sigh before she offered the same to Oliver. He refused and Felicity kept them clutched in her hand.

"What is this place?" she repeated as she glanced back down the valley. "Who are they? What country are they from?"  
"No country, they're militants, mercenaries, radicals, whatever name you want to call them." He sat down and urged Felicity to as well, wordlessly she followed suit and sat a little ways back from the edge.

"What are they looking for?" Felicity asked, remembering the words Oliver had told her before. She glanced over at him, but his face was giving nothing away, and it remained straight and emotionless; though inside he was anything but.

"They came here in search of something lost during World War II, it was believed to be a serum to create super soldiers. It was stolen by the Americans from the Germans, but then stolen from the Americans by the Japanese and consequently lost somewhere near Lian Yu."  
She blinked rapidly a few times, unsure that she had heard him right. "A Super Soldier serum?"  
The question hung with an air of disbelief and Oliver didn't blame her, he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it himself.  
"It would create and army with enhanced physical attributes," he explained while keeping his eyes on the horizon ahead of them. "Imagine the world's best athletes, combined with regeneration, heightened senses, and unbelievable strength. One of them could take on a hundred normal soldiers without breaking a sweat."

"Did they find it?"  
"Some time ago I suppose, but it wasn't finished. There was a scientist here when I arrived, he was attempting to stabilise the reaction many of those injected were having."  
"What kind of reaction?"  
"Those that survived the initial transfusion and the radiation needed usually became aggressive, unmanageable, in some it appeared as bloodlust and their appetites became insatiable. Like animals they lost all reason and self-control. Most of them ended up with a bullet between their eyes."

It might have only been a moment, but Felicity saw Oliver flinch as a heavy hand combed roughly through his hair.

"You saw all this? You were down there?" She asked the question, but she hadn't expected him to answer.  
"I was, for a time. I helped the scientist where he needed me. A few months ago he helped me escape."  
"He helped you?"  
"He was supposed to come with me, but he was killed during the escape. They thought me dead and its better that it stays that way."

The air was changing and it felt heavy and damp as it passed through his nose; it was going to rain soon and being caught up there overnight wasn't an option.

"We need to get going, they send scouts along these ridgelines at night," Oliver remarked as he stood up and offered Felicity his hand.  
She ignored it, peering back into the binoculars just in time to see the gates open and a jeep roll in through them, followed by two riders on motorcycles.

But it wasn't either of those that caught her eye; in fact it wasn't until they stopped and one of the men from the jeep pulled away a canvas sheet covering the back that Felicity audibly gasped.

They had her equipment case; one of them.

"Oliver wait," she fisted at the leg of his trousers, "look."  
He bent down and took the binoculars pointlessly from her hands to look through.  
"That grey case, it's mine. Well, your mother's I suppose given she paid for everything in it," Felicity prattled off as Oliver observed them take the large case off the back of a jeep.  
"Are you sure?" he asked, no expression on his stoic face.  
Felicity nodded. "I'm sure."  
"What's in it?"  
She pressed two fingers into a temple as she tried to recount the contents precisely.  
"Some camping equipment, sonars, mapping equipment, surveying equipment, supplies, a long range phone," she paused recounting the instructions she'd left with the men in that small fishing village port. They were to relay any messages or send a light plane with any extra supplies or fuel needed, and she told the same to Oliver.

"Do they know your name?" he asked before she finished relaying the terms of their arrangement.  
Felicity nodded,.  
"Is there anything in that case that ties back to you?"  
His voice was brittle and his tone harsh, despite not meaning it to be, but Felicity couldn't answer him; she didn't know.

"Maybe my tablet," she answered softly.  
Oliver didn't seem satisfied with her lack of certainty.  
"I gave it to Gavin to pack it, I don't know which one he put it in." No matter how hard Felicity pushed her thumb into her temple, the memory never became clearer; she just didn't know.  
"Gavin is the pilot?"  
His voice had moved from stoic to brittle, and then back to stoic.  
Felicity shock her head. "He was someone else from QC who spoke the language, so I, he, came with me," she explained, stumbling over the words.

Oliver's face twisted and his brow grew heavy, his eyes dark. "You didn't tell me there was any one else."  
"He," she gulped down the terrifying last moments she held of him. "He fell while we were crashing." Tears clouded her eyes despite fighting them back. "He's dead."

Oliver took Felicity's wrist and lifted her to her feet. "We need to go, now."  
"What about the case?" Felicity pleaded.  
"It's gone now."

**/**

The descent down the mountain range was faster than the ascent but by the time they reached level ground Oliver could hear the rumble beneath his feet; they wouldn't make it before this area of the forest was swarming with Ghosts.

He took Felicity's wrist and pulled her in a different direction, along the skirt of the mountains.  
"Where are we going?" she asked as her feet stumbled alongside his; he was going much faster than her smaller strides could keep up with.

The putrid taste of gasoline pricked Oliver's senses and he pushed Felicity against the rock face, shrouded by a dense thicket of mossy trees and low ferns. The jagged rock tore at her skin but Oliver cupped a hand over her mouth as his body shrouded hers behind the thick curtain of foliage.

It felt like an hour to Felicity where they stood frozen. She could feel the thump of his heartbeat as his chest pressed up against hers, and she could practically hear the sound of her own as it resonated up her throat. But it was only a few minutes, five at most, before Felicity heard the rumble of motorcycle engines and the paralysing sound of voices she didn't recognize.

With her eyes wide and her body rigid, Felicity looked at Oliver. He glanced back at her, offering her a faint thread of a smile before he pressed his index finger to his lips. Silently she nodded and while she would have liked to have closed her eyes and willed away the sights of masked men carrying guns tramping a mere stone's throw from where they were hidden, her eyes refused and she watched in suspended fear.

Second moved like minutes, and each noise made her body shiver, as at least 10 men, two on bikes, moved past them. She still didn't move, or make a single peep when Oliver peeled his hand away from her mouth, and she still didn't when the heavens above them opened up in a deluge of large, icy raindrops while a howling wind swept through the jungle.

"They're gone," Oliver remarked softly as he offered her his hand.  
She looked up at him with wide eyes, glassy behind unspent tears, but she didn't move. The rain ran like torrents down the smooth curves of her face and glued strands of loose hair to her temples.

He took her hand and folded his entirely around her slender fingers before he pulled her to her feet and away from the coarse wall.

"Can you walk?" he asked, whispered near her ear to overcome the sound of the rain pelting the world around them.  
Felicity nodded and mouthed the word yes before Oliver started walking, guiding her with their hands entwined.

They followed the wall of rock, keeping as close to it as the lush and tangled jungle would allow them, until they reached a small crevice in the mountain. Oliver went through first, twisting his body sideways to barely pass between the sheets of rock. Felicity followed, her smaller frame gliding easier through the deep crack.

A few steps in and the tight space opened up into a chamber bored into the rock. The ceiling was low enough to make Oliver stoop, but cavernous enough that their footsteps echoed down a dark and draughty corridor swallowed in shadows.

While Felicity struggled to see even her hand in front of her face, Oliver moved quickly and all she heard once he released her hand and asked her to stay where she stood, was the scuffle of feet on gravel and the creasing sound of him searching through his bag.

The brilliance of a flame igniting quickly bathed the chamber in warm-amber light as Oliver carried the lit torch over to a fire pit, not unlike the one back at the plane. There was already a pyramid of logs above a hatch of dried grass which lit up immediately.

With her feet anchored to the same spot, Felicity turned to take in the space; around the edges stalagmites had formed on the cave floor, growing from the floor in jagged spires, while the ceiling was littered in stalactites. The air was damp, but a breeze kept it from feeling stale and set back from the fire were two wooden crates and a hessian sack.

"What is this place?" Felicity wondered aloud.  
Oliver moved towards the crates and began unpacking a water canister, some tinned food and a small pot. "It's a shelter in case I got trapped this far from the plane. There are a few more like it around the island."  
Felicity peered into the edges of the cavern where the light dissipated, but the shadows continued. "What's down there?" she asked as she nodded her head towards the back.  
"It's a network of caves across the island, mostly natural, but some were made during the war so they could move across the island undetected from the skies."

He could see the question on her lips as her teeth fretted across the bottom one.  
"Don't worry," Oliver assured her, "They don't use the caves so we're safe in here."  
He handed her a jacket but when she didn't take it, Oliver placed the same over her shoulders.  
"Were those the men you spoke about?" Felicity asked as she pulled the edges of the jacket tight around her body.

"No," Oliver replied gently, aware that these caves echoed his voice and he could feel Felicity's emotions were already balanced on a knife's edge. "They were men from the encampment, but not the enhanced."  
"What were they doing?"  
"My guess is a patrol. We should have had more time, but your arrival here has them on high alert it seems." He offered her a kindly, affectionate smile when he'd finished his words, but Felicity's eyes were trained to the floor and her tethered feet.  
"The case, what will they do with it?" she asked dryly.  
He couldn't give her an answer that would lull the echoing thump of her heart. "I don't know."  
She glanced up only briefly and the distress on her face was more than apparent. "There was another one, a smaller one."  
He nodded, just a small bob. "That's probably what they're out looking for."

Oliver watched as she chewed the inside of her lip and cast her eyes downward again.  
"How many of these enhanced men are there?" Felicity asked softly, but her voice carried in the natural echo-chamber all the same.  
"Three."  
She looked up, surprised. "Only three?"  
Oliver took a drink of water before he handed Felicity the same; which she turned down. "Most of them turned on the Ghosts or died in the initial stages of the procedure," Oliver explained while he busied himself setting a small pot up near the camp fire.  
"Why not make more?"  
He glanced up only briefly before he resumed his task. "They could never synthesize the serum and the potency becomes weaker the more it's passed through human DNA."  
"Meaning creating more from enhanced blood will create an inferior result?"  
Oliver nodded slowly.

"How long were you there for?" Felicity asked softly, and her question drew his eyes upward.  
"Just over three years."  
She took a shaky breath as that harrowing fact sunk in. "They're the ones that," she paused to study her feet before she looked up again. "The scars on your back, they did that?" Felicity asked, as she recounted the scars that crisscrossed over his flesh.  
"Yes," he answered faintly; but it was all the answer she needed.

As her eyes started their descent back down to her feet, Felicity caught sight of a tear in Oliver's shirt and the dark red hue of blood staining the frayed edges. "You're bleeding," she remarked as she pointed towards the wound.  
He touched his chest and shrugged off her concern. "It's an old hole."  
Felicity looked at him curiously; she had watched his chest rise and fall in front of her right before the 'almost kiss', and there had been no tear in his shirt.

"Let me look at it," she bickered as she took a few steps forward.  
He didn't retreat and while his eyes tried to ward her off, she paid them no mind. Oliver didn't stop her either when her fingers moved deftly down the front of his shirt. With two buttons remaining Felicity pushed down the shoulder of his shirt and saw nothing. Not even a thin scratch marred his chest where the tear in his shirt was.

She stepped back bemused as Oliver redid his buttons. "I told you, it's an old tear in the shirt."  
Stepping away from Felicity, Oliver set about preparing one of the tins of soup; keeping his eyes low and his head bowed. "Get comfortable, we'll spend the night here and head back in the morning."

Felicity said nothing as she sat down on the dank, rock-ribbed floor near the fire. Transfixed she watched the growing flames as they licked and charred the wood while she hugged the oversized jacket around her svelte frame.

She wasn't cold, and she didn't feel wet.  
There was only one feeling Felicity recognised coursing through her veins. It was simple, rigid, and unforgiving; it was regret.

**Read at AO3 User Vixx2pointOh (regular and further ahead)**

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**Please leave a review xox**


	9. Reflection

**Discomfort, endlessly has pulled itself upon me**  
**Distracting, reacting**  
**Against my will I stand beside my own reflection**  
**It's haunting how I can't seem**

**To find myself again**

**Crawling / Linkin Park**

Felicity felt every movement with a sharp, biting pain that resonated down her back as she huddled close to the fire, stealing its warmth. The sun had vanished behind storm clouds and the cave had descended into a deep, thick darkness that was only broken in the small hazy circle around the fire pit.

Oliver had kept his distance after dinner, offering Felicity the chance to come to terms with what he'd shown her. He hadn't so easily forgotten his own first thoughts when presented with the truth behind those wire fences and steel doors.

He lived with that memory, even now; no matter how hard they had tried to strip that away.

But he could sense there was something wrong as tiny beads of sweat trickled down the planes of her face and each movement made her wince. He stepped out from the fringes of the shadows and walked slowly towards her.

"Let me have a look." He spoke with a kind voice and a lowered tone.  
Felicity shrugged off his concern, but the action made her snap her bottom lip between her teeth and grasp at the floor with rigid fingers.

He sighed as he crouched down beside her, his mass frame trying to appear as docile and small as he could. "You're hurt, let me look."  
"It's fine," she answered with a delicate flutter of her long, dark lashes.

He smiled, pronouncing a little dip of a dimple she hadn't noticed before. "Are you always this stubborn or is it just for my benefit?"  
She kept her lips as straight as she could before a smile crept up the corners.

Before she could answer with words, Ben came running in, shaking the rain drops off his fluffy coat. He squawked his annoyance as his tiny hands ruffled across his head, sending a halo of water drops across both Felicity and Oliver before he inched as close to the fire as he possible could without singeing the ends of his fur.

"Tell her she's being stubborn Ben," Oliver commented before Felicity gawked an open-mouth at him.  
"You're telling on me now?" she rebuked playfully.  
Oliver shrugged, both palms up, and Ben clambered onto Oliver's shoulders. Felicity watched as inconspicuously as she could as the brooding Tarzan gently ruffled the underside of Ben's chin with one finger. "Tell her she needs to show me her back."

A smile wavered across Felicity's lips, despite her best intentions to remain stoic. Ben twisted his head and looked at Felicity with his tiny, but wide eyes, weaving through a bob as he nattered away.

"Fine, I guess I can't argue with the monkey," Felicity sighed.  
Oliver laughed and Ben clambered down to take his position back in front of the fire. "It pays not to argue with the monkey," he admitted. "I'll turn around," he offered before Felicity needed to ask.

She slipped off the oversized jacket and carefully removed her top. The light played against her alabaster skin along the peaks of her breasts before Felicity held her crumpled tank top and his jacket against her naked chest.

"Okay," she breathed, holding back a whimper when the gentle breeze emanating from the shadows blew across her raw back.

Oliver turned around and sighed regrettably at the sight that presented him.  
He had done that.

He'd barely touched her when he'd pushed her against the rock face to hide them, and yet her back was grazed and deep gashes marred her once-flawless back.

"I'm so sorry Felicity, I did this," he said sorrowfully; guilt trenched in his words.  
She glanced over her shoulder at him and the amber-flames played with her blue irises as she smiled softly up at him. "Not intentionally," she assured him.  
He stood up and made his way over to a crate. "All the same," he started as he bent down to collect some supplies, "I am sorry."

He returned with a clean gauze-cloth and the water he'd warmed near the fire.  
"None of them look too deep," Oliver remarked as he sat his cumbersome frame behind her. "But it might sting a little to clean them."

She nodded, her chin to her chest and her eyes closed in preparation. "I suppose I should get used to that," she answered with an exhausted sigh.  
Oliver gently swished her ponytail over one shoulder, allowing his knuckles to brush against her soft neck. This place would steal so much from her, and knowing that made his heart sink.

She winced when the warm, wet cloth passed slowly over her torn flesh the first time. She could feel the throb of her bottom lip as she held it tightly between her teeth and she let a tear escape the corner of her eye, leaving a hot trail down her cheek in its wake.

His eyes were threaded with guilt and woe as he wrung the blood-tinged water from the cloth and made another pass. They were all superficial, and would heal with time, but her skin was so frail compared to his own; broken, scarred, replaced.

Just like him.

"What's Starling like now days?" he asked in an attempt to both distract Felicity and fill the arid, silent air around them.  
Her teeth released her lip and she wet it with her tongue before she answered softly, "Probably not much different from when you were there." Her voice trembled and her breath was shaky. "The social elite throw lavish parties and those without slip further towards being forgotten, and those of us somewhere in the middle just try to hold on to some semblance of an existence."

When the silence enveloped them again, Felicity sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a 'Debbie downer'."  
He tendered to her gently. "I don't think I'm one to judge," he answered, wisps of a chuckle warming his words.  
His words made Felicity smile and he could hear her breath pass softly over her lips in a silent laugh.

"Aside from working at QC and your cat, what else do you do?" he stumbled with a conversation, it had been so long since he'd held one with someone – not a primate. "Do you have a guy, or girl?"  
He cringed hearing the choppy words out loud.  
But Felicity humoured him with a light chuckle. "I tried that in college, it was fun but not my particular life choice now." He watched her shoulders slump forward and the milky tones of her skin were bathed in orange threads and glistening water trails. "No boyfriend," she added with a slight wince as Oliver passed over the deeper graze.

"So, what's the prognosis?" she asked, steering the direction of the conversation away from her non-existent love life.  
"You'll live to climb another mountain," Oliver remarked coyly, which made Felicity laugh.

Her fingers crept across her shoulder and rested near her neck. "Great, that's just great," she intoned dryly.  
Oliver noticed her knuckles were grazed too. "Let me clean those," he commented as he moved around the front of her.  
She looked down at her hands, grazed and flecked with dried blood. "I can do that myself," she answered as she reached for the cloth.  
But Oliver drew it back and shook his head. "I'm here now, I might as well."

He took her hand and she didn't resist him. It was small and soft in his palm, while her fingers hung limp off the edge. He delicately cleaned each knuckle and carefully wiped away any blemish on her skin.

"These three men," she started, pausing to fret with the question on her lips, "are they dangerous?"  
Oliver looked up from his sensitive task. "Yes, they are."

He lingered on her last knuckle before he retreated his hand and her fingers slowly slid away from him. "All of them are dangerous."

She nodded slowly that she understood.  
"Thank you," she breathed after she looked down at her hands.  
"You're welcome."

He wanted to linger there longer, sitting in front of her and admiring the way the licks of light played with her features, but he tore himself away with a weighty sigh.  
"We should try and get some rest," he commented as he trudged to the other side of the cave. "We'll leave at first light tomorrow."

She nodded, and despite the questions that still filled her brain, Felicity was exhausted and she couldn't keep her eyes open much longer.

**/**

She woke up with an ache in her neck and a yawn that overran her entire body as thin strands of light bled in through the crack in the wall and a strange echo of water roused her from her sleep. The fire had petered out and her mouth was dry, but after noticing those things, Felicity also noted that she couldn't see Oliver sleeping on the opposite side of the extinguished flame like he had been the night before.

She pulled herself up, fighting with the aches and creaks of her unimpressed body, to look around the hollow cave.

"Oliver?" she said, and her voice carried to the edges with an echo, but no response.  
She stood up and brushed the rock dust from her shorts.  
"Oliver?" she said into the void a second time.

Still no answer came.  
She looked towards the deepening cave and then towards the narrow entrance, trying to decide which direction to go, when Oliver blocked out those thin strands of light as he passed through the rock crevice.

She walked up to him and reactively batted his arm with the back of her hand. "I was wondering where you were?" she remarked, panic still lingered in her tone.  
"I went to get breakfast," he commented, but his hands were empty.

He rubbed them slowly together as his shoulders slumped. It was then Felicity noticed the fresh blood on his clothes.  
"Oh my god, you're hurt," she worried as he touched the wet and tacky spot on his shirt.  
He took her hand and threaded their fingers together. "It's not mine," he whispered as his eyes dropped.

She retracted her other hand, but left the one he was holding just as it was. "Oh," she breathed, trying not to imagine whose blood it was.

"I ran into a scout," he spoke flatly, though Felicity heard a faint tremor in his tone. "I couldn't let them get back."  
She saw pain and regret in his eyes as they briefly rose to meet hers, and instinctively she laid her free hand against his bristled cheek, gently cupping his face.  
"You did what you needed to do," she assured him with a whispered voice.

She watched as he swallowed down his emotions and bit back his regret.  
"We'll need to go through the network instead," he spoke tightly, holding a sombre look on his face. "It will be safer."  
Felicity followed his eyes to the foreboding shadows at the deep end of the cave, where the sound of the water running was echoed and distant.  
"That way?" she asked, shakily. "Why don't they use the caves?"

With his hand still in hers Oliver moved a few steps towards the depth, Felicity trailing along behind.

"There is a lot of superstition about them, they're almost impossible to navigate, they're pitch black in places, and they flood."  
His ominous words made Felicity's spine shiver. "Well now that you put it like that, let's go," she jested to hide her real emotion; fear.  
Oliver turned back, capturing her eyes with his own. "Trust me; I'm not them."  
She nodded slowly, but concisely. "I've trusted you so far."

**/**

They navigated through most of the tunnel network led by a single beam of light from the torch in Oliver's hands. Each step was taken carefully and she could tell that Oliver was slowing his pace to ensure that she could keep up; and not fall flat on her face. The air was dry but the walls were damp. Bioluminescent larvae hung from long, web-like strings in patches and the distant sound of water drips followed them wherever they walked.

"How did you learn these caves?" Felicity asked while she hugged the over-sized jacket tightly around her shivering body.  
"The scientist I told you about, he'd studied them long before I arrived," Oliver replied as he offered his hand to help Felicity over a small gap in the pathway.  
She stepped over the same and waited for him to take the lead again. "He sounds like a good man," she remarked and Oliver nodded.  
"He was."  
"How did he end up here, doing… that?" Felicity asked, her tongue fretting with the last word.  
"He wasn't given a choice. The men took his family and in an exchange to keep them safe, he did what he was asked."  
For a reason she couldn't explain to herself, Felicity reached out at that moment and took Oliver's hand, surprisingly he didn't retract it.  
"He was a friend?"  
Oliver pondered the question with a furrowed brow that Felicity had no way of seeing; it was a question he didn't know how to answer.  
"As much as he could be, given where we were and what we were doing," Oliver finally answered, allowing the warmth from her hand to bleed into his.

They walked on further like that, holding hands when they could and carefully navigating the twisting descent until a light emitting from one of the tunnels caught Felicity's attention and made her hand move instinctively to cover her eyes.

"Are we almost out?" she asked as she squinted into the piercing glow of light. After such a long time in the throes of near darkness, her eyes had adjusted to the same and the sudden intrusion of natural light had her eyes throbbing.

Oliver stopped them both short of the passage where the light was trickling out of and put himself between Felicity and the hazy glow. His large hands curved around the sides of her face like a visor as he gently tilted her head up.

"Let your eyes adjust," he spoke softly as he memorised the slopes of her brows and the almond-shape of her eyes.  
Felicity nodded before she took her time and glanced slowly around the cusp of his arm. The light hurt but she sought out the edges of it before gradually moving towards the centre where the light was the brightest.

"Alright, I'm ready," she answered with an assured nod before Oliver led the way down the short, lit passage.

At the end of it lay a massive cavern unlike anything Felicity had ever seen before. It was ethereal, like something you'd expect to see drawn on the pages of a fantasy novel. Lush moss in shades of emerald and jade covered the rocky ground like blankets thrown over sleeping slopes. Ancient trees with wide trunks twisted their branches up towards the flood of light above them from a hole in the roof. Through the centre ran babbling brook over cobbled stones, disappearing into a shadowy tunnel just beyond the fringes of the light.

The space was immense and in every new direction that Felicity looked she discovered new sights; from the narrow and lacy waterfall to the small steps that seemed to be cut into the stone on the other side of the brook.

The air felt warmer there and there was a touch of mist in the air. It was truly breath-taking, and as Felicity stood in awe of its beauty; Oliver stood in awe of hers. The rain had cleared, and the fresh sun bounced off her honeycomb locks. The slight floating mist glistened against her dewy skin and her lips, parted and slightly pale around the edges, started to bleed into a delicate dusky-rose as they warmed with her breath.

"Wait," she said as she sucked in a gasp of air. "Do we go up?"  
Her panicked eyes shot towards Oliver and he immediately turned his head upwards, hoping she hadn't caught him staring.  
"No," he chuckled. "That would be insanity."  
The relief Felicity resonated in her sigh was palpable.

He'd done it before, but that wasn't a feat Felicity needed to know about.

"This is the centre of the island. The folklore is that this was once a volcano. It erupted so violently that it completely emptied and the cone collapsed. The caves we walked through were created by hot rivers of lava that had nowhere else to go."  
"Imagine something so beautiful coming from something so violent," Felicity gushed as she kept her eyes to the ceiling.  
"Life has to find a way I supposed," he lamented quietly. "We can rest here if you'd like," he added, noting the hints of salt that floated through the air.  
"No, we should keep going, I'm alright to keep going," she affirmed before she looked at him and smiled. "Lead the way."  
"Now we go up," Oliver remarked while he nodded up the misshapen stairs cut into the stone.

Beyond that, up the sloping and meandering climb, was the mouth to another cave; just one of at least twelve Felicity had counted.

Oliver helped her up the first step and she thanked him with a smile.  
"So does Ben come down in these caves with you?" she asked as they continued to walk up the ascending slope.  
"No, the animals tend to keep their distance."  
Felicity took one last look around the underground expanse before they disappeared into the gloomy shadows; she didn't blame the animals.

With all its ethereal beauty there was also something haunting about that place that Felicity couldn't quite figure out.

**/**

The sun had settled beneath the low lying clouds and the temperature was beginning its descent towards the nightly chill when Felicity and Oliver arrived back at the plane they, for now, called home.

Oliver carefully checked everything before he allowed Felicity inside, making sure that the Ghosts hadn't reached this far in. He knew it was only a matter of time, but for now they were safe.

"I'm going to get something for dinner," Oliver remarked almost as soon as they had returned back.  
Felicity stood up and nodded as she followed him to the door. "I can help," she declared, despite her aching feet and her tired limbs.

"It's been a long hike, you should rest," Oliver encouraged without a hint of pity, but Felicity still wasn't having it.

"I can help, I'm not a damsel in distress you know," she quipped, the playful banter softening the narrow eyes she was giving him.  
"I would never have thought that about you," Oliver countered without irony. "The way you fought with the pilot when you knew what was right. The way you helped me, the way you've carried yourself in these circumstances," he paused to stoop his head just enough that their eyes met. "You're no damsel."  
"But?" Felicity guessed his next word.

"But these guys are swarming around the area, I just want to make sure they aren't close by. Please could you stay here, maybe light the fire?" Oliver requested.  
Her lips folded over each other as she considered his appeal.  
"That I can do."

Oliver left with a slightly dimpled smile.

**/**

The walk to the fishing spot was near on 40 minutes, but from the tree tops Oliver sprinted it in less than 10. The exhilaration sped through his veins like a drug as the wind slapped cold against his cheeks and the air passed beneath his feet.

He had held back today and the aching need to expend some of the energy that pulsed through his muscles and throbbed down his limbs had become almost painful in its relentless torment. He inhaled the air as deeply as he could, seeking out notes of smoke or fuel that may be carried on the air, and he relaxed in the absence of both.

His agile feet moved with precision even down the narrowest tree limb and he bounded easily from one to the next, perfectly predicting each step long before he'd taken it.

For all its tortures, there was no freedom quite like the one he felt racing though his pulse at a moment such as that.

The air was salty when he landed a perfect somersault dismount onto the white sand. The inlet was sheltered and fed many of the tidal streams that wove across the island. The beach itself was small and isolated, but he took his time to survey the line of trees in each direction before he relaxed.

He buried his toes into the slightly sun-warmed sand. While sunset shrouded the sky above in brilliant hues of orange and pink, much of the heat remained just below the surface and the pleasant comfort of it was an idle relief to Oliver.

When a few minutes had passed Oliver set down his bow, just inside the fence of trees and stripped off his trousers to wade into the deeper tidal pools that trapped some fish during low tide.

He touched his thigh where the bullet had pierced his skin.

The bullet wound was completely gone.

**/**

Just on dusk Oliver returned to the plane carrying a fish strung over his shoulder and a heavy weight threaded across his troubled brow.

Felicity needed to know the truth; she needed to know the monster she was trusting her safety to.

She met him at the door, giddy with excitement; which wasn't exactly an emotion Oliver had seen in the last four years.

"Look what I found in my suitcase," she quipped as her hand, and the small metal object she was holding in it, swayed in front of Oliver's face.  
"Nail scissors?" Oliver asked, squinting at the same.  
She turned the black-handled mini scissors in her hand while she nodded.  
His eyes narrowed and his lips crinkled. "You want to cut my hair?"

"Your beard. You're always scratching at it so I thought I could give it a trim." Felicity grinned as she spoke but when it wasn't reciprocated she drew it back. "Never mind, it was a stupid idea, of course you could have trimmed it before if you wanted to." She blinked passively as her throat reddened with embarrassment.

He could hear her breathing quicken and the heat nervously emanating from her body tasted sweet.  
"No, I…," he started as Felicity had begun to retreat. The truth sat unsaid on the tip of his tongue before he replaced it with something else. "What makes you qualified?" Oliver asked with a smirk.

Her smile returned and her breathing slowed to a normal rhythm.  
"I worked at a barber shop during college," she chatted with a little peppy step forward.  
His attention piqued. "Really?"  
She laughed at the surprise in his eyes. "It was kind of a hip barber shop, not like some old guy called Bob. Well before its time really. I had a scholarship, but it didn't pay for everything and my mom worked pretty hard just to keep her own bills paid, so I did what needed to be done," Felicity answered with a matter of fact nod.  
Oliver listened intently to her story and when she was finished he smiled. "I flunked out of every college I went to."

She snipped the air with an impish smirk. "So what do you say, after dinner?"  
He ran his thumb and forefinger down his bristly beard.  
"We could do that."

**/**

Felicity was trying not to laugh. Her naturally pink lips crinkled and straightened at the corners every few seconds as she carefully studied Oliver's face. She hadn't noticed him staring and she had no way of knowing that he could taste her every breath on his chapped lips.

She was sitting so close that he could hear every time she filled her lungs and he could see the tiny freckles that were smattered across her nose and spilled down her chest. The scent radiating off her was sweet, like honey, but warmed.

Through dinner he had considered telling her the truth, but he was terrified that the moment he did, her smile would dissipate and he would lose the only light he'd seen in so long.

The concentration was threaded across her hitched brows and the sparkle in her jewel-faceted eyes was unmistakable.

She would lean back as they sat on the floor together, to check her work by the light of the fire beside them, and inevitably she would huff out the smallest of sighs at a perceived imperfection before she leaned forward and continued her task.

But the last time she leaned back, a smile lifted up the ends of her mouth instead of a sigh. "All done," she announced proudly. She grabbed a small makeup mirror she'd found and held it up with a ginger smile.

Oliver looked at himself only for a second before he looked beyond his own reflection, because he never really liked what he saw looking back at him.

"What do you think?" Felicity asked with hints of a nervous, breathy laugh.  
He touched his groomed jaw. She had managed to cut it so it wasn't rough to the touch. "I'd leave a tip, you know if I had any money."

"I accept IOUs so you can pay me back once we're home in Starling."  
His smile tightened.  
"I know," she whispered as she laid her hands gently in her lap. Her thumb toyed with the edges of the mirror as she continued, "I just want to believe...," she stopped her sentence short and when she looked up Oliver saw tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

"The first 5 dollars I make when we get home is yours," Oliver remarked as he held out his hand.  
She took it and they shook on his words, but then they stayed that way and his thumb skated soothingly over her knuckles.

"What was it like here all this time?" Felicity asked, her voice barely a whisper. But when Oliver didn't answer she tried to recant her words. "Sorry, you probably don't want to talk about it."  
"Lonely. It was lonely," Oliver replied, also a whisper but rasped at the edges.

He leaned a little closer, his shoulders casting a shadow over her lap. She wet her lips. He wet his.

He could control himself, even with one soft kiss. He could...

Each half inch closer felt like a mile. Her eyes softly lidded, her tongue patted the centre of her full lip. He looked down at her mouth, then back into her eyes.

He could control it.

Her shaky breath misted his mouth. Her fingers clenched around his while their hands stayed tethered.

He could kiss her.

He could.

Dirt scattered around them as Ben bounded in on three legs, the fourth was clutching something in a vice grip. Felicity pulled back immediately as though a trance had been broken.

Oliver plucked the small, plastic square from Ben's hand and studied it curiously before Felicity in turn plucked it from his hands.  
"This is mine," she gaped as she held up closer to the light. "From the other crate."  
"Are you sure?" Oliver asked.  
Felicity nodded. "I'm absolutely sure." She turned it and showed Oliver the small embossed logo; QC Inc. Starling.

"He found the case, do you think he can take us back there?"  
Oliver looked down at his furry companion. "Probably, we'll leave first thing tomorrow."

**/1424 days ago**

Every square centimetre of your body has approximately 200 pain receptors.

Oliver wasn't sure why he knew that fact; perhaps he'd once stumbled across a BBC documentary one lazy Sunday afternoon, or maybe it was a fact that stay embedded in his brain long after he'd read it on a page from one of the few textbooks he'd cracked open.

He supposed it didn't matter why he knew it, but that thought gave him a few seconds of idleness before the cracking sound of the whip meeting with his flesh and the severe pain that followed tore every thought from his body.

Every square centimetre of your body has approximately 200 pain receptors.

The scent of blood permeated the air, together with the putrid smells of decaying flesh; his own? He couldn't say.

He begged his body for the collapse of unconsciousness and the relief of waking up in that tiny concrete prison; but neither came speedily.

They asked no questions, so there were no answers he could give to stem the pain and halt the barrage of strikes across his torn back.

Each strike resonated down his body with so much force that he lurched forward, jolting his arms in the metal restraints that hung from the ceiling.

200 pain receptors.

"What do you want?" he cried out, over and over again, his voice thin and broken, until barely a splinter of the words came out.  
But they gave him no answer.

Then it just stopped.

Where he had expected another crack there was only silence.

The heavy door behind him opened with a deep, echoing creak and closed a moment later with a thud that made his body jolt.

"Oliver Queen?" a voice behind him asked. It was slow and considered, male, with an accent he couldn't quite place but eastern European possibly.  
Oliver stammered out a shaky "Yes," as his body, with its open wounds, shivered in the dank surroundings.

He could feel the man moving behind him by the tap of his shoes on the concrete floor and the breeze that brushed against Oliver's ripped flesh, and there was something else; a second tap, without the scruff of a shoe, and it sounded wooden.

The man tapped his walking cane beside Oliver's feet, making them shuffle against the irons that held him in place.

"Oliver Queen, born May 16, 1985, resident of Starling City."  
Oliver shook as each softly spoken word caught an echo around the tiny room. He let out a scream as the end of the man's cane pressed into a deep, open gash.

200 pain receptors every square centimetre.

"Not anymore," the man whispered near Oliver's ear.

Oliver's body slumped forward, held up only by the restraints around his wrist. Muffled noises reverberated through his ears, but he had no resolve left to decipher what they belonged to.

The chains came loose and he fell, like a lifeless marionette doll, to the dirty floor. Instinctively his body turned in on itself, curling his broad frame into the smallest of balls it could manage.

One after the other, he opened his eyes and saw the room for what it was; as every time he'd been taken in there a rank bag had been placed over his head, stealing his eyesight until he was strung up facing the same blood-smeared wall.

The room was lit with a single panel light that flickered as though one of the tube bulbs was on its final legs. A metal chair was the only piece of furniture in the room. The door was heavy, riveted metal with a tiny sliding window cut into it at eye height, on the wall behind him was a window that took over half of the wall, tinted and reflective.

His wrists and his ankles were still in chains but they were no longer confined to the pulleys and anchors that held him in place.

The door opened and the light from the corridor was soon blacked out by the mass of a man whose shoulders kissed either side of the doorframe as he walked through it.

"Get up shipwreck." The same voice he'd heard before crackled through an intercom on the same wall as the window.

Oliver skidded his body towards the corner and the bulky man lumbered closer.

"Get up, or die on the floor like a rat."

Oliver winced as he pressed his battered body against the cold, unmalleable wall. The sharpness of the chill and the brittleness of the concrete grazed his wounds and made him scream out in pain.

"Get up."

He pulled himself to his feet, but his stance was crippled and shaky.

"Kill him before he kills you."

**/present**

The cold sweat covered Oliver's body as the recounted pain shook through him like an earthquake. He felt every tear in his flesh and he knew every sound that had forced its way into his memory.

The Goliath was laughing, menacing and mocking as Oliver struggled to stand upright and every flail of his fist only met air.

He called out in pain before his jaw locked tightly and his back teeth ground together, stifling the next guttural scream.

A punch landed, but it was like hitting a brick wall and his fingers shattered in blinding pain.

Get up  
Fight

His hand caught the throat, a different replay from the memory that usually haunted his nights. He felt its warmth in his palm and the throbbing of the blood in the pads of his finger.

He squeezed, knowing how close he was to breaking that small bone that would slice their windpipe.

Get up  
Who are you?  
Get up

He could hear the strangled breaths coming from his opponent as he stole the last few minutes of their life.

He felt nails clawing at his skin, frantic but superficial.

"O-liv-er." Stunted. Strained.

Notes of honey brushed against his lips.

"O-liv-er."  
Soft, faint, feminine.

Oliver's eyes flung open to find his hand tightly around Felicity's creamy and slender neck. Her eyes were wide and afraid, her lips a pale shade of blue, and her fingers frantically scratching down his forearm.

He released his hand immediately, and panicked he fell back from her as she gasped for air on her knees.

She had woken up to the sound of Oliver's pleas; sleepy-eyed and worried, she had attempted to rouse him from his nightmare when his hand had moved much faster than she could recognise and locked, like a vice, around her throat.

On her hands and knees she tried to return oxygen to her body as her petite frame shook in the orange strokes of the fire.

"Felicity," Oliver panted as he pushed himself against the wall. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

She managed to look up and perhaps she had tried to mouth the words I'm alright but all Oliver saw was the fear in her eyes.

And he couldn't blame her.

_**story complete on archiveofourown . org **_


	10. One

**I see your face, find peace of mind**  
**Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning**  
**The end of war, the great divine**  
**We'll see the day**  
**Of reckoning**

**the reckoning / within temptation**

When Felicity woke up the next morning, her body slowly becoming acutely aware of the thin slither of first light as it pierced through gaps in the wreckage, she was surprised to find Oliver still there. She realised that subconsciously she had expected him to have left; although she didn't know what she would have done if he had.

However, judging by the drawn look on his face, Felicity safely assumed he had slept since...since; Felicity swallowed and the ache under her skin made her shiver. Reactively, her fingers brushed down the side of her throat and the pain that followed had her biting the edge of her lip.

Oliver looked across at her, his large hands wringing over each other as guilt threaded across his heavy brow. His eyes caught hers and he looked away, sombre and blighted as his shoulders slumped forward, the weight of the world hung from them.

When he looked up at her, Felicity could tell there were words he was on the precipice of saying, and had probably struggled with them most of the night.

"It's alright," she said; getting there before he could utter the words that tormented his mount.  
But the guilt on his face didn't subside. "I could have hurt you," he whispered; far more than Felicity probably realised.  
"But you didn't."  
She smiled graciously and while it felt genuine to him, he was still riddled with guilt… for everything.

"I approached you in the middle of the night when you were clearly in distress, you didn't mean…," her words trailed off as her fingers reactively brushed against the tender spot again. "You didn't mean to."  
The slight inflection at the end of her words made it seem almost as if it was a question rather than a statement, and Oliver answered it as such. "I didn't mean to," he breathed softly. "I'm so sorry."

"So then, that's all we need to say about it," she offered him closure and Oliver took it with a fleeting but amiable smile. She moved swiftly off the bed and headed towards the little counter where Oliver now kept the coffee; for a transient moment there was something natural and habitual about it – as if to say this was home now.

Oliver watched with words unspoken. A part of him was laden with a secret that he felt she should know, but the other parts of him were chained with shame and afraid that opening Pandora's Box would see him lose her.

"Should we get going after coffee?" she remarked, severing Oliver's thoughts.  
He nodded, considered but absent.

**/**

They followed Ben through the dense and overgrown jungle, with Felicity swatting away a swarm of bugs that seemed to be drawn to the stagnant pools of water the passed along the way. This part of the jungle seemed far more abandoned and darker than the trek they had done the day before, but it was overshadowed by the spires of treacherous rock daggers that blocked out much of the early morning sun.

Oliver was a few steps ahead, carefully noting each breeze that brushed past them to decipher whether any dangers lay nearby, or closed in around them. The part of the jungle where Ben had been walking them for about an hour was closer to the routes he knew they travelled than he would have liked, but if Felicity was right and there was something in that case she could use to get off this hell-hole then he would take the risk; in the hopes that he was enough to protect her.

She deserved to return to the life she had, and perhaps forget about this place.

Ben stopped and both Oliver and Felicity stopped behind their little guide as he bounced excitedly on the spot. Two impressive somersaults later he scampered to the left and they took off running after him. A short burst later and they were staring at the scattered remains of the small case Felicity had so carefully packed.

She looked at the scene, forlorn and deflated. From where she stood everything looked broken and scattered, and what hadn't succumb to gravity itself, looked like it had been tossed around by primates that perhaps didn't know any better.

"I'm sorry," Oliver remarked as he watched Felicity wander forward into the mess.  
She didn't answer him, but instead crouched down to collect what had once been her laptop. It still somewhat resembled the same, but the screen was cracked like a spider web and the casing was missing which had exposed much of the insides to the elements.

The case itself was lying close by, fallen on its side with the top twisted open at the hinges. There were scorch marks down the side and at a guess, Felicity assumed it had hit the bellowing flames at the tail when it had flown from the helicopter.

Camera and radio equipment was scattered like leaf-litter across the ground, in what resembled a hodgepodge jigsaw puzzle for each item; and after Felicity picked up each piece and studied it, she was unable to find anything that wasn't irrevocably damaged.

Still, maybe there was something she could use.

Wordlessly, Felicity collected bits and pieces, carefully considering each and dropping what she thought might come in handy into the damaged box as she went.

"You think you can do something with this?" Oliver asked curiously as he leaned over the box and pretending to know what any of the bits inside it were.  
Felicity dropped in her broken laptop and smiled. "Maybe, it's worth trying. I'm looking for anything with wires."

Oliver scooped up the top half of a search light and Felicity nodded down to the container, a gesture for Oliver to put it in, which he did.

They picked through the wreckage for nearly an hour when Oliver's ears tweaked at a distant but growing sound. It moved much faster than anything on land and when he looked up, he saw a light plane passing through the wispy clouds above them.

Felicity looked up a few moments later, drawn by the distinctive sound, but her heart plummeted knowing what that likely meant.

They had made the call.

Before she could react with words she saw the trail of white smoke in the air, following behind a small, black trajectory, and then an explosion, bright orange and violent in its ferocity.

That time they didn't miss.

Felicity screamed in helplessness before she dropped to her knees, unable to hold herself up. Tears of anguish sprung from her eyes and she considered the people aboard that plane that was now nothing more than fiery droplets falling through the sky.

But, that wasn't the only noise Oliver heard.

He picked Felicity up off the ground and held her at the shoulders, stooping enough that he could look her in the eyes. "That wasn't your fault," he said sternly, but the tracks of tears running down her face said she didn't believe his words.

"Felicity, do you hear me? That wasn't your fault," Oliver repeated sternly, and Felicity nodded faintly. His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. "We need to go," he added and she nodded a second time.

They only made it a couple of hundred feet before Oliver knew it was too late and her best chance lay with them not knowing she was alive.

He stopped her by gently grabbing her elbow and she swung around to look at him, instantly comprehending the worry fraught in his expression.

"You need to run," he spoke clearly and concisely, watching her eyes to ensure she understood him.  
"What?" she stammered before her eyes darted around the edges of the small clearing where they stood.  
"Ben knows the way. Trust me, you need to run."  
She nodded slowly, but there was still confusion threaded in her eyes.

"Whatever you hear, don't stop running Felicity. Don't turn around, don't stop."  
She watched his lip tremble as he spoke. "What about you?" she whispered.  
"Felicity," her name came out of his mouth like a shaky exhale. "I need you to run."

But then his face tensed and his eyes zoned in on hers. "Run. Now."

So she did.

**/**

Oliver closed his eyes, blocking out the onslaught to his senses, and focused slow and steady on the distant but gaining sounds of whirring engines and cracking branches beneath wheels.

His breathing was shallow but the sound of it echoed in his head as he counted the thundering echo of feet. Eight, no ten. Two bikes.

The putrid taste of petrol slapped against his lips as he wet them. He slipped the bow from his shoulder and loosed an arrow by memory.

The tension on the bow string thrummed against his calloused fingers as he pulled it taut and lifted the tip of the arrow a fraction up.

The approaching rumble was becoming deafening but Oliver held his stance. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Five  
Four  
Three  
Two

The first motorcycle burst through the jungle into the clearing at the exact moment that Oliver let the arrow go. It shot through the neck of the rider, sending him flying backwards off his bike which careened, driverless, into the ground at Oliver's feet, both wheels still spinning.

He loosed another arrow but never nocked it as the second bike broke through into the clearing seconds later. The rider already had his semi-automatic weapon drawn, steering his bike with one hand.

The first peppering of shots rang out like cracks of lightning as Oliver ran towards the bike. Spring boarding off the front tire, Oliver flipped over the masked man's head and drove the arrow into his jugular.

Blood exploded up Oliver's arm before he dismounted in one fluid movement and the bike skidded into a tree.

He stilled himself just inside the clearing; knowing the rest would only be a few seconds behind.

**/**

The trees slapped at Felicity's face, her lips were dry and her eyes wet as she ran through the jungle with Ben at her heels.

When the first chain of shots rang out Felicity stumbled, grazing her knees on the uneven ground. On her hands and knees, Felicity was overcome with fear as she tried to steady her ragged breathing.

She couldn't just leave him...

Felicity picked herself up off the ground but despite Ben's protests, she didn't move.

She couldn't just leave him.

**/**

Oliver heard the snap of number 3's arm as the bone splintered in three places when Oliver bent it roughly backwards. He also heard the agonisingly shriek as Oliver's fist careened into the side of the man's chest, shattering at least three ribs and no doubt puncturing his lung.

The man dropped like a weight and Oliver moved onto the next. He caught number 4's hand as he pulled the trigger of his high powered rifle and the bullet sliced through his comrade's chest before Oliver tore the weapon from his grip and slammed the butt of the same into the man's face.

Numbers 4 and 5 dropped, and number 6 hesitated with his weapon enough that Oliver landed a kick to his chest which sent him hurtling backwards and creating a spray of bullets up towards the sky.

**/**

The second spray of bullets had Felicity reactively pressing her palms against her ears as her feet carried her by memory through the overgrowth.

A silent scream came from her mouth but she carried on, even as the air around her filled with chaotic noises.

Adrenaline coursed through her brain, fighting back the fear that had once gripped her.

She couldn't just leave him…

**/**

Number 6 pulled himself up off the ground to his hands and knees before Oliver landed another kick to his back. The blow was paralysing and the man dropped like a mannequin.

Number 7 got lucky, and one bullet from his hail sliced across Oliver's arm, piercing the thin cotton shirt and grazing his skin. He didn't flinch as he turned to look at the culprit. The man raised his rifle towards Oliver's head and a twisted smile drew up Oliver's lips.

As if in slow motion the bullet moved through the air and moments before it hit its intended target, Oliver side stepped the same and it splintered into a tree trunk behind his head.

The air grew heavy with the smell of spent shots and sweat as Oliver lunged towards the man, stole the pistol from his holster and shot him in the forehead.

He used the same gun on number 8 who was dragging behind the rest in the commotion and he was dead before his body met with the ground.

Number 9 and 10 came through together. Oliver knocked the first down with a stumbling blow of his fist.

But, even in all the tumult, Oliver heard another – number 11. His brief moment of distraction was enough for number 10 to land a punch to Oliver's jaw that snapped his head back like whiplash.

**/**

Clutching the bat-sized log she had collected on the way, Felicity ran towards the clearing, only to stop short of the same when her eyes caught sight of Oliver as he stood over a kneeling man, with his hands pressed to either side of the man's face.

Then, frozen with fear, Felicity watched as Oliver broke the man's neck with a single, violent jolt. Crumpled, the body fell face forward, into the dirt.

It was then that Felicity saw a writhing man about 50 feet from her, pleading for his life as Oliver approached.

There was something dark in Oliver's expression, something much like she had seen the night before when his hand was clenched around her throat.

The man garbed in black scurried along the forest floor towards one of the fallen motorbikes, but Oliver got there first. He lifted the bike with one hand and cast it aside like it was made of nothing heavier than soft plywood.

Felicity's breath shuddered in her throat seconds before an audible gasp shook from her mouth. It wasn't loud but it was enough to draw Oliver's attention up.

And in the moment where her eyes met with his, he knew she knew.

Oliver Queen was one of the three.

* * *

_**|story complete on archive of our own / user Vixx2pointOh**_

_**| Twitter/Tumblr someonesaidcake**_


	11. Rebirth

_**Bring me home in a blinding dream**_  
_**Through the secrets that I have seen**_  
_**Wash the sorrow from off my skin**_  
_**Show me how to be whole again**_

_**' ****Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of glass**_  
_**Hardly anything there for you to see**_  
_**For you to see**_

_**castle of glass / linkin park**_

Her lips were dry, yet she was unable to wet them.  
Her eyes were aching, yet she couldn't seem to blink away.  
Fear trapped her feet where they stood as the log dropped from her trembling hand.

She would like to think there was some rational reason why she just saw a man lift a dirt bike above his head and toss it aside like a toy.

While Felicity was no expert in the differences between makes and models of the same, logically she expected to find the average weighed around 200 pounds. And, while she thought it very possible that Oliver might be able to bench press that with reasonable ease, there just didn't seem any humanly possible way that he could lift it with one arm and simply throw it away.

Humanly.

The word echoed in her head like the repetitive thump of a drum band.

And then every strange oddity she had put to one side, or attributed to survival skills, came barrelling back to her; his injuries that no longer seemed to bother him, his exceptional ability to climb, simply "stumbling across" her luggage, his strength, the fact he heard every sound long before she did…

She swallowed as her dry lips chaffed together and tears sprung to the corners of her eyes.

His words in the cave seemed so ominous now

"These three men, are they dangerous?" She had asked him with a whisper.  
He had paused as he tendered to her hand and she watched him expel a soft sigh before he answered. "Yes, they are." Another pause when her hand slid away from his. "All of them are dangerous."

"All of them are dangerous."  
Oliver was one of the three.  
All of them are dangerous.  
Oliver was dangerous.

After all, she had seen him take a life with no apparent pause and she was not oblivious to the carnage that lay at his feet at that very moment.

And then a hand around her ankle stole every thought from her brain. She looked down and saw the eyes of a stranger, a man likely willing to kill her if the roles were reversed, and yet his strangled words called for mercy.

Oliver's head bowed as he picked up a pistol from the jungle floor and held it at his side. He couldn't bear to look at her, but he forced himself to all the same.

He deserved her revolt.

After all, monsters should be feared.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed across at her as each step drew him closer.  
He couldn't let him live; there was no choice.

Felicity shook her ankle free as she sobbed out a silent cry. The man crawled closer, pawing frantically at the dander beneath him.

She stumbled back and took a sharp inhale, before she turned and ran.

She didn't get far before the sound of a single shot rang out.

It was not the first she'd ever heard, and she doubted it would be the last. But in that moment, it was most certainly the loudest.

She doubled over and dry-retched.

A few seconds later she heard a second shot before she crumpled to the ground, leaned up against the trunk of a tree, tucked her knees to her chest and buried her head in her arms just as a third shot cracked through the air.

**/**

The drone fell at Oliver's feet with the second shot, and the third was spent on ending the suffering of the last one left; he was bleeding internally and his breathing was shallow and sporadic, it was a small mercy.

He hadn't heard the drone earlier and he wasn't sure how much they had seen, but with one last crushing blow with his foot, he made sure it was untraceable.

There was little point making this look like anything other than what it was, they would have enough footage of him now to know he was alive.

He took, a pistol, one semi, and a belt of bullets before he collected the parts Felicity had salvaged from her lost case and set off the way Felicity had run.

**/**

"Our feed is down sir," a man with tightly cropped hair and a nervous twitch at the corner of his lips spoke as an overbearing presence sulked across the floor in front of him.  
"Did we get a recording of the footage?"  
"Yes sir, everything is remotely recorded."  
The older man stood back on the heels of his black polished shoes. He hardly looked like he belong there in his tailored suit and his spotless fingernails.

But Damien Darkh didn't need to get dirty when he had people to do that for him.

"Bring it up," he remarked stiffly and the young man in front of him busied himself finding the file.

"You should have let me go?" a third man, built like a weight lifter but with the snarl of a psychopath.  
"And get yourself killed?" Damien threw his chin part in a practiced laugh. "What benefit would that be to me?" He stretched his knuckles out in front of him and smiled menacingly. "Perhaps maybe one benefit," he added with no further clarification, but all in the room knew what he meant.  
The bulky man paced the floor, every step like a small earthquake. "I can take him," he roared.  
"If that were true he wouldn't have escaped the first time," Damien countered, not a flinch in his expression. He stepped around the control unit and the sound of his shoes clipping along the dusty floor echoed around the room until he stood in front of the man much taller and much larger than himself. "He is stronger than you, faster than you and in all conceivable ways, he is better than you."

The larger man panted through his anger before he lowered his head, defeated.  
"You told me he was dead," Damien whispered, cocking his head to stare into the man's eyes.  
"I saw him fall."  
The foot of Damien's cane crashed down onto the ground making the other souls in the room startle.  
"Clearly he is not fucking dead is he?" Damien screamed, the blood under his skin turning his face an exceptional shade of red.

No one spoke, for there was nothing to be said. Until one small voice broke the silence.  
"The video is up sir."  
Damien straightened his tie and shrugged his shoulders, laughing off his little outburst – although no one else dared laugh.

The drone footage only caught the last two kills as it arrived at the scene only after the scouts called for assistance. They had been sent to scour the area where they'd earlier found the case, and weren't expecting what they'd come across.

Damien watched the screen silently and intently and no one dared to breathe, let alone speak.

"What is he waiting for?" Damien wondered aloud as he leaned in closer. "He hasn't taken the shot, why?"

He watched the screen as Oliver stood over the man, perhaps having an existential crisis. Although given the body count in a few short minutes, which was to say nothing of the count Oliver had amassed over the years; he doubted that very much.

"Are there any better angles than this?" Damien asked stoutly.  
"No sir," the wavering response came. "You told me not to fly too close because he'd be able to hear."

Damien readied himself to drain the life from the insolent fool, but stopped when something on the recording caught his eye.

"There, freeze it," he hummed leaning it.  
There on the tape, he noticed that the Ghost on the floor wasn't looking at Oliver, but rather he was looking into the bushes.

Damien tapped his finger on the ball of his cane as a smile grew across his pale lips.  
"There, do you see it?" he asked.  
The younger man leaned in and squinted at the black and white pixels. "Is that a…?" his voice trailed off as he ticked the video over another frame.

Damien leaned around the man and zoomed in as far as the image could. It was only a flash, a thin slither caught on the tape. But it was enough.  
"Well, well, well, our little experiment has found himself a Jane." Damien stood up and laughed huskily before he stopped abruptly. "Find out who she is."

**/**

"I told you not to come back," Oliver grunted as he caught up to Felicity a few feet into the jungle.  
He offered her his hand to help her up but retracted it when he saw the tacky trail of blood down it. She stood up without help and brushed the dirt from her pants.

Oliver took the pistol from his waistband and opened the magazine before snapping it closed again and handing the same to Felicity.  
"I don't want that," she argued as she gently batted away the handle.  
Oliver jutted it out to her a second time. "Take it, there might be more of them."  
"And you expect me to shoot them?" she bit back before she recoiled against the tree behind her.  
"No, I expect you to do what I ask, but look how well that turned out."  
Felicity pushed off the tree and took the gun from Oliver's hand with pursed lips and thin eyes.

He sighed, realising he had snapped at her a little more than she might have deserved. "You won't need to use it, but just in case you do, you should have it."

He turned around to keep walking, but Felicity didn't follow.  
"We need to keep moving," he remarked as he kept one ear trained to the ambient noise, and any shift in the same.  
"You're one of the three aren't you?" Felicity asked.  
She knew what she had seen; what he could do. But she also needed to hear the answer from him.

Oliver tore a tired hand through his hair. "Yes."  
She felt the air drop from her lungs, despite already knowing the answer.

Oliver watched as his truth sunk in. He had never said those words to another person, but all he could think about was finding the words to assure her it was okay; that he would never hurt her. But, when he finally was able to open his mouth to tell her that, she tipped her head a little to the side and he saw the faded red marks he'd left on her throat.

How could he give her that assurance?  
"We need to keep moving," he breathed, before turning away from her once more.  
"Who are you?" she whispered, shaky words coupled with a musk of fear he couldn't condemn her for.

He turned around slowly.  
"I told you," he said stoically, a fist at his side. "I'm no one."

**/1296 days ago**

His consciousness was waning somewhere between awake and asleep; his eyes too heavy to be considered awake, but slept meant pain. And so, Oliver stayed in a conscious state that could be considered neither.

Exhaustion had set in days no weeks before. He barely recognised the thin, spindled fingers that grew from his bruised and battered hands. His lips were chaffed and broken, perhaps they might have hurt, but he couldn't be sure.

He didn't know what hurt anymore.  
Pain was normal.

As the heavy door creaked open, Oliver reactively fought against the leather straps that bound him to the hard, wooden chair. It was fruitless, of course, he knew that; but it seemed a small fight in him remained – despite the inevitable.

"How long has he been without food?" the same voice he'd heard over and over and over said. The voice that haunted his hours long after he'd heard it. Thin, brittle, old…  
"Ten days sir," came the reply instantly.  
"Water?"  
"Two days sir."

Oliver licked his chapped lips; had it been that long? He squinted into the dank air. Maybe?

The sound the metal alligator clips of the jumper leads made as they clamped around the battery made Oliver startle in his seat and he ground his teeth down painfully.

He shook his head frantically as it was forced backwards and strapped back against the curved headrest. He pleaded with strained words but it was like not a single one made it past his lips the way the man with a shock of grey hair strolled nonchalantly about the room.

"Wake him up." The moment the words left his mouth, Oliver was doused with a bucket of cloudy and stagnant water.  
Oliver gasped, taking in whatever her could despite the bitter, earthy taste of it.

Calmly the man leaned down, keeping his eyes in line with Oliver's. "What is your name?" he asked, and where Oliver had once heard an accent, it seemed less now, only ringing around the edges of each word, although he still couldn't place it.

"Oliver Queen," he puffed through his clenched jaw.  
A nod was all it took and a jolt of electricity shot through Oliver's body.

"What is your name?" The second time he asked it was more forceful and the depths of it resonated off the dirty, steel walls.  
"Oh-," Oliver's head slumped forward as he spoke, "..liver Queen."  
A second bolt made his body convulse until the smell of burning flesh tainted the air.

"Please," he whimpered.  
It wasn't to the stranger whose name he still didn't know, but rather a plea to death itself to come and collect him at that moment.

"Who are you?"  
The third question was fractionally different, but Oliver's answer was vastly so. "No one, I'm no one," he screamed with everything he had. It was broken and strangled, but it was all he had left.

The man stood back and Oliver tensed his entire body, expecting a bolt of electricity that never came.

"He's ready." The words didn't seem to be directed at anyone that Oliver could see. "Try the new one on him."

"It hasn't been tested yet," a new voice, frail and unsure, spoke from behind Oliver.  
"This will be its test then, Yes?" A short laugh cracked before it disappeared, hollow.  
"No one will miss him if he dies and I won't waste a perfectly good Ghost."

Feet shuffled.  
The door slammed.

His closed his eyes.

**/**

As they reached the wreckage Oliver stopped and Felicity mimicked a few feet back, with Ben sitting silently on her shoulder.

She bit her lip expecting another row, but he simply nodded down to her grazes and asked, "Are you hurt?"  
They were superficial at best, grazed knees and a small cut on one of her palms, certainly nothing that required any special attention.  
Felicity shook her head softly as Ben clambered from one shoulder to the other. "No." The word popped out of her mouth like a tiny dash of air.

He nodded, acknowledging her answer before he dropped the items they'd scavenged. All Felicity could do was watch and Oliver dropped the semi-automatic weapon, his bow, and his quiver onto the outside table; the last of which came with a frustrated huff.

"I told you to run," he said, low and husky under his breath while his hands gripped the edge of the table and his head hung between them.  
"I thought you might need help," Felicity retorted, while she crossed her hands across her chest and ground the heels of her shoes into the ground. "Clearly I was wrong," she added, albeit with a softer tone.

His shoulders flexed with every deep, raging breath he took as he stayed studying the ground. "I told you to run," he repeated, his voice still as low as it was the first time; emotionless and stoic.

"Maybe if you'd told me about," she paused, unsure how to word it. "If you'd told be about you, then maybe I would have."  
He raised his head and pushed his body off the table. "You want to know about the monster?" he growled. His brow was heavy and his eyes shadowed.

"No," she replied before she swallowed down the lump in her throat; she couldn't be afraid of the man who had so carefully cleaned her grazed knuckles, the man who'd found her coffee, and sliced her mango… even if he was the same man that had decimated a small party of men with weapons.

She stepped forward and placed her hand on his arm. She expected him to pull away, but he didn't. "I want to know about you."  
His hand fisted at his thigh as he studied the delicate smile that she wore for him.  
"I am the monster," he whispered. "You saw what I did; what I can do." He glanced down at her throat and while much of it was now dappled with perspiration, he could still see the faint outline of his fingers.

Felicity placed her other hand on his chest, above his heart, and counted the beats at the pulsed into her palm. "Help me to understand, tell me what happened to you."

"We should go inside," Oliver warned as he looked up into the late afternoon sky. There was no doubt they would have seen his face on the drone recording, so now they knew he was alive, they would send more to scout the area.  
Felicity followed him inside and took a seat on the bed, but Oliver remained standing.  
"Ask me what you want to know and I'll answer it," he said, a weary sigh followed his words, but it was time for her to know exactly who he was; or rather what he was.

"How long have you been like that?" Felicity asked while her fingers wrung together and the corner of her lip fretted with the question.  
"1282 days," Oliver answered specifically.

You don't forget something like that.

**/1283 days ago**

Oliver was tossed into the tent where a flood of smells lifted his tired eyes from the dirty floor. On a table laid out in front of him was a meal; eye filet, roasted baby potatoes, peas, carrots, lashings of gravy, piled high on a metal plate, and sat beside the same was a handle of beer.

His stomach knotted as he crawled forward on his knees.  
"Sit, eat," the same man who had tormented and tortured him for months smiled as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table, in front of a plate of his own.

Dubiously Oliver looked around, but there was no one else there. He pulled himself up and, on shaky feet, he took the short walk. He stumbled into the seat but didn't lift the cutlery.  
"Do you usually say grace?" the man asked as he sliced his knife through the steak. Oliver shook his head. "Then please, eat up before it gets cold."

Oliver glanced down at the steak knife and its glistening, serrated edge.  
"Are you considering how fast you can pick that up and plunge it into me?" the older man remarked as he finished his mouthful.

Oliver remained tight-lipped; but that had been precisely what he'd been considering.  
The man wiped his mouth on a white linen napkin. "Pick it up," he insisted.  
Oliver didn't move.  
"Pick it up!"

Reactively Oliver clutched the steak knife in his hand and lifted the same, pointing it across the table.  
A twisted smile lifted on the man's clean jaw.  
"Come," he remarked while he gestured his hand.

Oliver lunged forward but his body was caught, unmoveable and rigid, even though there was nothing but air in front of him.  
"Can't move?" the man asked as he collected his fork with one hand and stabbed a buttery potato. His free hand twisted in the air like a puppeteer and so did Oliver's arm until he cried out in pain. His hand closed and Oliver's hand went limp, with the knife clattering to the floor.

"I am a far better ally than enemy son. Eat."  
He sat back in his chair and took a sip from the metal goblet as he watched Oliver across the table.

Oliver collected his knife from the floor, set it on the table, and tore into the plate of food ravenously without restraint.  
"Tomorrow you will have a chance at greatness, at becoming a god among men. Reborn from imperfection."  
Oliver barely heard the words and he never acknowledged them.

"Tomorrow," Damien repeated, garnering only a perfunctory glance from Oliver. He sat back and smiled.

Tomorrow.

**/**

"What was it like?" Felicity asked. Her voice was soft and calming to his ears, and given the memory she was asking him to recall; he appreciated the balance.  
His eyes appeared troubled as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and instinctively she wanted to retract the question.  
"I'm sorry," she atoned as she stood up, "I shouldn't have asked that."

Oliver pulled his gaze from the ground. "No, it's okay," he remarked with a slight tremble in his voice. His eyes were tired and his body seemed smaller as his shoulders slumped. "They say that your body can only tolerate so much pain before you go unconscious. It was like it knew that limit and it took you there and kept you there, right on the edge of it. Never giving you a reprieve."

He clenched his fist as he spoke; it had been so long and yet he remembered it so vividly – the tastes and the smells.  
"Your friend, he did that to you?" Felicity asked softly as she stepped closer, putting her barely an arm's reach from him.  
Instinctively, Oliver moved closer but they still never touched. Her peace surrounded him and the scent of her in the air anchored him to that moment as he recalled one of his worst.  
"His name was Yao Fei but back then I only knew him as the Doctor."

**/1282 days ago**

"Doctor, he's ready."  
Oliver heard the words but he didn't bother to seek out which one of the people mulling around the voice belonged to. There were three, maybe four, he had stopped memorising details of this place; it wasn't like he was leaving any time soon. They were all dressed in white with surgical masks covering their faces and little white hats on their head.

Oliver found that amusing.

He'd wallowed in dirt, been electrocuted, chained, eaten scraps of food off the floor… but there they were concerned about giving him an infection in whatever hellhole this place was supposed to be.

He glanced around the small square room just the once. He was strapped into what looked like a metal coffin with higher sides. Metal plates were placed over each side of his chest and lines of a blue liquid were screwed in along each side. On either side of him were large machines covered with white sheets, and large lamps – at least half a dozen of them – were set up around the concrete, windowless room.

He was underground, he knew that much, in fact he'd smelled the similar stench he'd first encountered when he first got there. He hadn't tried to struggle; there didn't seem any point anymore.

Perhaps he was hoping whatever was underneath those sheets would do him a favour and end this.

He'd be okay with that.

"Leave us," a voice said from the doorway and the room emptied with a shuffle of feet.  
There was very little noise left in the room, just a distant and ambient whir of a fan that Oliver could barely make out.

"Are you a doctor?" he asked, somewhat sarcastically.  
"I am a great many things here," the man answered behind a white mask, his Chinese accent was pronounced, but his tone was soft. All Oliver could make out of him was a few strands of black hair tucked under his cap and sorrowful brown eyes.

He didn't notice the needle until it pushed into Oliver's arm. Once he would have winced at the pain, but it seemed he'd become almost apathetic to it.  
"What was that?" Oliver asked as a cool sensation trickled down his arm.  
"General anaesthetic," he answered as he made his way around to the other arm where he repeated the action. "It will help dull the pain when the injections start."

He set the spent needle aside and checked the machine that measured Oliver's vitals. "I'm afraid that you need to be conscious for the treatment."  
"Treatment?" Oliver laughed, he couldn't help himself and he wondered perhaps if mania had finally set in; but the word made it sound like he was at the spa getting his back hair tended to.

"What is your name?" the man asked as he pulled up a stool.  
Regimentally, Oliver locked eyes with the ceiling. His jaw clenched and his voice plateaued. "I'm no one," he answered stoically.  
"He's already taken that from you I see," the man sighed. "This isn't a trick question I assure you, what did they call you once?"

Oliver's head shifted and his eyes moved down from the ceiling.  
"Oliver."  
"Do you believe in god Oliver?"  
"I'm not sure."  
A sorrowed sigh came from behind the mask as the man stood up. "If you do and you find him, pray for us all."

Those were his passing words as he closed the lid on Oliver's coffin and sealed it.

Oliver closed his eyes and a single tear slid from the corner of one; he was sorry.

And then the pain started.

At first it felt like a slight pinch, like the sensation of dragging nails down your arm, scouring the skin. His body tightened, as though his skin was suddenly too small for his body. His fingers throbbed and his throat burned.

Unwittingly, Oliver thrashed against the side of the metal box and the binds that kept him there. His entire body convulsed, and every fragment of energy he had exploded from his body with a twisted scream.

The tiny enclosure flooded with bright light that felt like it was burning his body from the inside out. He saw nothing but that punishingly white light and felt nothing but pain.

But just as suddenly as they had come; they vanished, and Oliver was left with nothing.

Until… it was faint at first, a soft hum as the blades of the fan sliced through the stagnant air. He shook his head, imaging his body playing tricks on him, knowing that inside that metal coffin there was no way he could hear that tiny little fan.

And yet, he did.

**/**

"I am a first generation. An experiment," Oliver remarked drawing lines through the creases in his elbows as he crossed his arms over his chest.  
"Were there ones before you?"  
"Yes, but I was different. The ones that came before me, those that survived the injections and the radiation that followed, gained strength and agility; just as intended."  
"But?"  
"But their bodies couldn't handle it, the change in the structure of their DNA was too much and it took them apart from the inside out. None had ever survived past a few weeks, maybe a month tops. The serum worked, but humans made terrible conduits."  
"So how did you survive?"

"They had an idea to combine the serum first with the DNA of another animal, thinking that it might 'water it down'. Think about it, comparatively an ant is stronger than a human; cheetahs are faster. They have keen senses that we can't even imagine. I won't pretend to understand how they did it, but they combined the serum with the DNA of different animals and injected it into me."  
"And you survived," she breathed softly.  
"I think they were all surprised," he remarked with a soft chuckle.  
"What do they call this, this serum?" she asked.  
"I'm sure there's a scientific name for it, but we just called it rebirth."

"So you're obviously strong?"  
He nodded, and that was all the answer she needed. "Strength, speed, agility, healing…,"  
She stopped him short with a curious hum. "But I saw you, the day you were shot, I pulled a bullet out of you," she remarked, the crinkle across her nose spreading up to her brow.  
"You saved my life," he smiled affectionately, "but not from a bullet wound, from the poison the bullet was laced with. It inhibits my ability to heal. They call it a failsafe if a bullet between the eyes was too messy."

"So you can die?"  
"Yes, just not all that easily," he admitted.

"So healing when not poisoned, got it." Felicity offered the faintest smile. "Anything else?"  
"A heightened sense of sight, taste, hearing, smell." Each word of truth he told her seemed to lift his shoulders; she wasn't running away.  
"Sight? I suppose you didn't need the binoculars after all," she remarked with a shallow shrug, it was really the most minute of facts after what she'd already seen. "Smell?" she added curiously.  
"I can trace the scents of people, note changes in the air, or emotions."  
"You can smell emotions?" Her quizzical brow raised slowly.  
"When a person is afraid their body produces different scents, I can smell them," he answered.

Felicity straightened her back and caught Oliver's eyes with her own. "Do I smell afraid?"  
Oliver leaned in, despite not needing to. He caught a tendril of her silky hair between his thumb and forefinger and gently lifted it away from her neck. He inhaled her scent deeply, letting it rest on his palate.  
"No," he whispered and his warm breath splintered down her neck.

Her lips quivered as her tempered breath grazed his cheek while they remained dangerous close. Enraptured by her, Oliver ignored the barrage of helicopters circling nearby, until Felicity heard them too and stepped back.

"They know I'm alive," he answered the unspoken question on Felicity's pale lips. "They're looking for me."  
She swallowed down a shaky breath. "Now what?"  
Oliver pulled the bed away from the wall, tipping it over in the process. Underneath was a hatch.  
"We go down."

**||originally posted on AO3 || user: someonesaidcake **


	12. Trust

At the bottom of the small ladder, Felicity found herself in a damp cave that had her crouching in its suffocating size, but her discomfort was little compared to Oliver's, who was practically bent in half while both his shoulders grazed the sharp rock walls either side.

The air was heavy and stale and the ground was wet with a slow-moving trickle of water that looked like tiny hops of animated light under the glow of the torch.

"Be careful," Oliver spoke softly as he gathered together what they had packed; it wasn't much but it included a few weapons he strapped to himself, a few things from the chest that had once sat at the foot of his cot, Felicity's suitcase, and the stuff she had salvaged that afternoon – adamant that there was something she could do with it; she just hadn't put her finger on what yet.

Felicity pressed her stooped body against the unmalleable wall, ignoring the biting pain of the jagged edges poking through her clothes. She didn't realise how long she stood like that, staring at the lamp Oliver had placed near their feet, until he gently touched her elbow.

"Are you hurt?" he asked and she looked up at him startled with her bottom lip clamped between her teeth.

She nodded with a wobbly head that Oliver didn't believe for a moment.  
"I won't hurt you," he assured her with a voice saturated in guilt and shame at the monster he considered himself.

His fingers left off her skin but Felicity grabbed them back and threaded her fingers into his. "It's not you Oliver. I'm not afraid of you," she whispered and he felt her tiny hand squeeze his. "I'm just a little claustrophobic apparently," she added with a wonky smile. She hadn't noticed before, but then again she'd never been in such a dank, small space like that.

His worry melted and was replaced with a kind smile. "Oh," he said and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze back. "It's not a long tunnel I promise."  
"Promise?" Felicity asked with a light chuckle as she squinted into what seemed like endless darkness.  
Oliver stroked his thumb across her knuckles, leaving a wake of goosebumps. "I promise."

He collected together their 'luggage' dropping her hand for only a moment before he collected it back and gave it another reassuring squeeze.

Thankfully, he wasn't lying and after about five minutes Oliver climbed out of the small hole into a large, cavernous space. The air was just as stale and damp but as he helped Felicity down by the waist, she was glad for that first (and cramped) leg of their journey to be over.

There was a small wooden crate near the exit of the small cave and Oliver set down their things to pry it open with his bare hands, a feat that did not go unnoticed by Felicity; he wasn't trying to hide his abilities anymore, which to her felt like a level of trust she appreciated.

Inside the crate was a few sticks of dynamite and all you would need to set it off. Felicity watched, silent, as Oliver packed the sticks into the entrance of the tunnel that led back to the plane.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Felicity finally asked as he unwound the fuse cable.  
"Sealing off this way in," Oliver explained as he checked over his work. "It will only be a matter of time before they find the wreckage, and we can't have them follow us."

Once he'd checked the packing of the dynamite, Oliver looked over at Felicity whose brow was fretting. "Don't worry, the next place is nice," he assured her with a wink.  
She laughed softly. "This isn't it?"  
"No." Watching her tongue sweep across her lips stopped Oliver's sentence short before he forced himself to look away. "It's much nicer than this. But you should stand back now," he commented, keeping his eyes locked on the explosives.

Felicity obeyed and took half a dozen steps back, she also copied when he gestured for her to put her hand over her ears.

The explosion cracked through the space and reactively Felicity crouched into a small ball and kept her eyes screwed shut, at least until she felt the rough pads of Oliver's fingers brush up her forearm.

She stood up and glanced at the collapsed tunnel before she idly and instinctively found his hand with her own and they began walking once again.

**/**

Oliver was careful to help Felicity through the narrow caves, and it was unmistakable to her that they were going down. How far? She couldn't say, but the air was frigid and everything felt more hollow the further they walked.

Her eyes had adjusted to the thin stream of light from the lantern that she carried between them, but the ground was uneven and sloped, so each step was taken cautiously.

However, after nearly an hour, she was feeling the effects of a tiring body and she stepped awkwardly on a rock which proceeded to slip out from under her feet, causing her to stumble.

Oliver's reflexes were instant as he spun and caught her at the waist before she tumbled. The light swung in her hands as she gasped out a tiny breath. His hands were around her svelte waist and her top had ridden up, meaning his large, warm hands were wrapped around her bare skin.

His face was so close to hers and the air between them fell silent but for the incessant sound of distant, but echoing, travelling water which had accompanied them the entire journey.

"Thank you," she whispered as she tumbled her free hand down his brawny chest.  
"Are you hurt?" Oliver asked with his fingertips feathering over her spine.  
She coiled her fingers over his shoulder. "No, I'm fine," she breathed, a slight rasp floating on the tips of the words.

He could feel each breath she took under his clammy palm and he could taste her arousal on the motionless air. Heat bubbled in his veins as he listened to the beat of her heart rapidly increase and, as his thumb brushed down her ribs, he felt her quiver beneath his touch.

He could just...

He pulled his hands away and ground his teeth together at the back of his jaw.  
"We should keep moving, it's not far." As he spoke he clenched his fists at his side in an attempt to wipe the softness of her skin from his memory.

But he never really believed he could.

She rolled her lips together as she nervously brushed back a tendril of fallen hair. "Of course," she remarked offhandedly. "Where exactly are we going?"  
"There is a cave not far from here that was set up as a bunker if needed. Yao Fei spent years setting them up," Oliver explained as they continued walking.  
"To what end?" Felicity asked.  
Oliver paused to retrieve a tattered notebook from his backpack. "In this he wrote every experiment religiously, every failure and every success. While a lot of what they did here was for the worst reasons possible, he believed that some of this knowledge could be harnessed and adapted. That somehow cures could be found."  
"But?" she spoke softly.  
"But he knew they wouldn't just give up this information and that his only hope of escape meant hiding where they couldn't find him."  
"He thought he could cure you?"  
Oliver sighed as he pushed the notebook back into the backpack before they continued walking. "I don't know if he just told me what he thought I needed to hear in order to help him, but yeah, he did."

"You said before that your serum was combined with an animal," Felicity remarked as Oliver stopped to help her down a small step.  
"It was," he answered as she gripped his hand.  
"What animal?" she wondered.  
As she walked by him, Oliver breathed her in. "A wolf," he answered, with a slight rasp in his voice as her aroma played on his senses; she was still aroused.

Their hands stayed tethered as they walked.  
"Like a werewolf?" she quipped with a smile he recognised in her tone.  
"I don't howl at the moon and I don't consider myself all that hairy," he answered, amused, as he ran his fingers through his long mane. "But I guess so."  
"It's a good thing I was Team Jacob then," Felicity replied with a slight shrug.  
He paused before he shrugged. "I don't know who that is."  
Felicity laughed, warm and engaging and he held her hand just a little tighter to feel the warmth it exuded. "Of course you don't."

**/**

Oliver was right, and it was only another quarter-hour before they emerged into a cavern that felt like the size of a football field, though much of it sat under eerily-still water. It was hard to see the edges of the cave with the small lantern and Felicity squinted into the depths as best she could while Oliver moved towards a deep, pitch black, recess.

A thrum of a generator shattered the silence and moments later the dry corner of the cavern lit up with small but powerful lights that were anchored into the rock face.

Felicity gaped reactively as she looked around the massive cave. The ceiling above them was at least two stories high and much of it was crawling with vines and roots from the jungle above, but it sloped down towards the water where small stalactites had formed. Tiny holes let in thin slithers of natural light in, and there was a ladder against one wall that led all the way to the top.

There was a small but fast-moving waterfall in one of the corner and what looked like an explosion of sharp rocks coming up out of the water near the other. Oliver stood behind her, simply watching as she took all of it in.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, near breathless.  
She was looking out into the natural expanse, but he was looking at her. "Very beautiful," he answered as his eyes mapped the soft slope of her neck.  
"Can they?" She fretted with her lip, unable to finish her sentence.  
But, he knew what she meant. "There are only three ways in and out of here," Oliver began as he stepped just fractionally closer to her. "I blew up one of them."

She turned unexpected and Oliver thought she might draw back from him after she realised how closely a monster stood behind her, but she didn't even flinch.  
"Where does that lead?" she asked while she nodded toward the ladder.  
"There is a hatch up above, but it's locked from the inside and they won't stumble across it," he assured her, holding himself back from smoothing the worry from the dimpled corner of her full lips with his thumb.

"And the third way?" Felicity pondered.  
He pointed to the far end of the pond, near the waterfall, where the water was churned into a bubbled peeks before they smoothed out into the glassy fringes of the calm and settled waters.

"There is an underwater tunnel that comes out near the mouth of a cave just outside their encampment," he explained while she listened. "But it's impossible for anyone not enhanced to make the swim."  
He could see she was still worrying, so he continued. "How long can you hold your breath?" he asked gently.  
She looked up at him, chewing her lip as she considered her answer. "Two minutes maybe?" she guessed.  
"It's a six-minute swim, even for me," he rationalised.  
Her face softened with relief. "How far are we from the wreckage?"

"Up that way," he started as he looked up towards the hatch, it's about 30 minutes, maybe more," he paused to look at her.  
"If you have small legs like mine," she finished his sentence with a laugh.

He loved watching her laugh and so far she hadn't caught him doing so, but that time his eyes lingered a little too long and she looked at him with softly lidded eyes and arousal beading off her breath. It was a good thing she was unable to sense his arousal as it throbbed down through his body and shadowed his eyes, while carnal thoughts of her filled his mind and his breath deepened.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, his eyes shadowing her lips as she answered.  
"A little bit."

He pulled himself away with thoughts of her body dappled in sweat, as he dragged himself towards the stuff they'd brought with him. He offered her a mango and she accepted it with a smile before he took her hand and led her further to the corner of the cave.

There was no cot like in the wreckage, but two bedrolls were spread out in front of a rock-lined fire pit, and there was a stack wood near crates of what Felicity imagined was food. All things considered, it was quite a nice setup.

"Throw pillows?" she chuckled as she looked and noticed them on the bedrolls.  
"Yao Fei had a knack for interior design I suppose," Oliver answered with a light, jovial smile of his own.

**/**

With their hunger sated and a warm fire dappling the cave in an ethereal amber glow, they sat together on the bedrolls; Oliver sharpening arrowheads with the blade of a knife and Felicity contemplating all the questions she might ask him, but unsure how to.

It was hard to tell if the evening had settled in, but the tiny slithers of light that had once pierced through holes in the ceiling were untraceable now and Felicity assumed evening had finally fallen.

With little breeze to carry the heat from the fire, Felicity soon realised tiny beads of sweat were misting her collarbone and making her skin glisten under the orange whips of light. She had read the book in her luggage once before, but she hadn't moved a page in the last half an hour and it remained sitting on her lap on the same page she'd opened it to.

As she brushed the back of her hand down her moist neck, an odd question spilled unexpectedly from her mouth. "Can you turn it off and on?" she asked and furrowed her brow moments after it left off her lips.  
Oliver paused what he was doing and looked at her with a slightly bemused expression.

Felicity apologised with an uneven smile before she explained the question. "If you're sitting in a train would you have to smell everyone?" she wondered curiously.  
She felt the warmth of embarrassment flush across her cheeks which she absently patted with her fingertips.

She watched his lips twitch with an answer below his closely groomed beard (courtesy of her the night before) before his tongue wiped slowly between the seam.  
"I can focus it," he answered with a pleasantly deep voice. He watched a singular bead of sweat roll down her neck unhindered. "I only smell what I want to."

The huskiness of his voice made Felicity's skin prickle, a fact she barely noticed; but he did.  
But her eyes did bow under the intensity of his. "That's good," she remarked with a jaunty chuckle. "Otherwise public transport and gyms would be pretty awful."  
He settled back to his task with a smile, "I suppose they would be."

"Did you know what was happening to you?" Felicity asked as she closed her finger in the book.  
That time Oliver stayed glued to his task and it reminded her of the first night on the island; however where she had once found his silence intimidating, she now understood why he kept himself guarded. Now that she knew at least some of the secrets those brilliantly-sapphire eyes held behind them.

"At the time, no," Oliver replied and his voice was soft and low. "Before it all started they stripped away much of your identity and during the process they carefully extracted whatever was left."

He looked up at her as he recounted, in a haze of tortured and echoed screams, the shock and aversion therapies used to, brick by brick, remove Oliver Queen; his memories, his personality, his family... everything.

"When Yao Fei saw I was a successful test subject he started lessening or countering those processes, I suppose in the hopes regaining my humanity would mean I would help him."  
"Looks like he was right," she intoned as she glanced briefly around their surroundings.  
Oliver offered an obliging and thankful smile; but his friend's faith had, in the end, cost him his life and Oliver hadn't been able to prevent that.

"So you regained your memories?" Felicity asked when the conversation stilled.  
"Most of them, good and bad," he said with a wavering nod. "A lot of it, even now, feels like a story I've been told or a sort of Deja Vu. And then there are parts that I've never had returned." He sighed as he looked off to the distance, "I'm not sure what my favourite colour was or the type of food I liked to eat," he admitted quietly.

A pause came over them but Felicity sensed there was more he wanted to say as her fingertips instinctively brushed over his while their hands lay flat on the ground, bridging their bodies.

"I only know my birthday because I was told it," Oliver continued and Felicity watched as his massive body deflated with a sigh; despite knowing how much brute strength and honed senses he possessed, at that moment he seemed so broken; a man built for a purpose and little else, and it drew her reactively closer to him.

"I know the memories I have are mine, but it's like I'm watching them on a videotape that worn and static. Sometimes I'm not sure I trust them because I don't have any emotion to attach to them, that was something he couldn't give me back." Oliver's words were fractured, his tone brittle.

"You can make new ones," she assured him softly as the delicate pad of her thumb soothed his crocked knuckles.  
He looked at her thumb as it moved languidly over his stained hands. "Do you think so?"  
There was slight joviality in his voice, but Felicity only saw it as a mask.

"People didn't forget about you," Felicity offered gently and he answered her with just a glimpse of an uneven, but appreciative smile. "I'm here because your mother refused to believe you were gone. She believed you were alive."

She inched closer and so did he, without either of them realising it.  
"Whatever you did here Oliver, there are people waiting back home for you. People that haven't forgotten you, and never will."

His fingers turned and tangled with hers; feeling her skin and knowing, in spite of everything she knew, that she didn't run from him, gave him immeasurable hope... something he hadn't felt in such a long time, so long that the concept felt new, foreign.

His breath mimicked hers and soon they had been drawn so close that they shared the same tepid air. Whirls of warmth grazed against her lips with each breath he took and her own shaky breaths tickled his.

She tipped her head a little closer and brushed her lips tenderly across his. The kiss was timid and new and for a moment she considered she was dreaming it, until Oliver pulled back, brutally severing it.

Felicity watched as he stood up and drew away from her, with what she thought was repulsion on his expression. She dropped her head and swallowed the tiny whimper that threatened to expose her feelings while she set her book to the side and stood up.

"Sorry," Felicity fretted as she coiled her arms around her narrow waist. "That was so stupid, I'm so sorry."

He could see the regret coating her expression and he could hear the same in every word she uttered. And he wanted to stop her...  
"It's not...," he promised but she wouldn't look at him.  
"No, it was," she worried while her fingers turned white as they gripped her sides. "You were being open and honest with me and I thought," she paused to shake her head and Oliver could see the threads of regret faintly colouring her skin reddish. " I was wrong," she stated with an affirming nod.

"Felicity," he exhaled her name as he took a step towards her while she took three away from him.

She shook her head and tried to keep her smile straight behind her embargoed tears.  
"It's okay Oliver please, you don't need to explain, you've been nothing but nice to me and I owe you my life, but of course I'm not your type and I really should have known that."

When she stopped pacing he reached out for her and his rough fingers brushed across her elbow.  
She looked up at him, hurt twisting around her pupils. "If we could just forget this. Forget I did that?"

He so badly wanted to give her what she begged for at that moment, but there was something else he needed to say instead.

"I didn't pull away because I don't want you, I pulled away because I do," he admitted before he stepped closer and put Felicity in part of his shadow.  
"I don't understand," she answered, still gripping her waist.  
He leaned closer, his lips nestling just above the slope of her neck as he inhaled her, but careful not to touch.

He felt her breath quiver and he could smell the heady scent on her skin as he moved slowly up towards her throat. He could feel her pulse, beating rapidly beneath her translucent skin before his nose skimmed up her jaw and paused near her ear.

"I've wanted you more than I've ever wanted something," he whispered while he relished the soft, natural perfume pulsing off her skin. "Your scent is in my bloodstream."

"Oh," she whispered, and as he heard the shakiness of the word tumble from her lips he played with loose wisps of her hair, kissing them between his aching lips.

"But," he regretfully hushed as he stayed lingered there a precious few seconds longer. "I can't." He forced himself back but no further than half a step while he watched her body gently sway on the spot.

She was looking for more; an explanation, and he knew he owed her one.

"I could hurt you," he admitted as his fingers twisted in the legs of his pants. "If I lose control, if I...," he sighed, near breathless and lamenting every word he said. "If I hurt you, I could never forgive myself."

She was silent, and each breath she took was torture to Oliver while he waited for her to say something.

For a moment he considered she might walk away, do what he couldn't at that moment, but before the seconds stretched into a minute, Felicity bridged the small gap between them and took his hand. It tremored as she held him gently at the wrist. Wordlessly, Felicity softly placed his hand on her waist and reactively his large fingers curved around her side, grazing her silken skin.

He could feel every breath she took like electricity through his palm before she lifted onto his toes and wet her lips.

"I trust you Oliver," she breathed and the words floated from her mouth and warmed his. Her nose nudged the tip of his before she tipped her head just a fraction and brushed her lips ever so slightly against his.

She felt his mouth quiver and his grip on her waist tighten.  
"I trust you," she said a second time, faint but bruising to his lips before she kissed him, agonisingly soft.

I trust you; both a promise and an invitation.  
Her lips.  
Her body.  
Her taste.  
Her scent.

Her words.  
I trust you.


	13. Anchor

**AN: contains smut.**

I trust you.

Her kiss was soft and her breath warm, but there wasn't even a hint of wavering in her voice when she spoke.

Oliver sighed against her lips as the tips of her fingers brushed tenderly down his bristled jaw. His own fingers ached against her bare skin while the fine hairs that littered her body lifted beneath his hand.

"Felicity," he growled her name against her lips, rasped and desperate. He loved the sound of it leaving his throat and falling off the edge of his lips, and he loved the tiny mewl that she responded with.

It was Felicity who pulled a step away, leaving his mouth floating in the hot air she left behind. Her bottom lip was snagged to one side between her teeth as her fingers toyed with the hem of her t-shirt. He watched hungrily as she knotted the fabric in her fist.

"Tell me to stop," she whispered as she lifted it enough to show the smooth, taut slope of her belly. "If this isn't what you want; tell me to stop."

Oliver sealed his lips together; even his breath was too loud.

Felicity waited a few time-consuming seconds before she lifted her cotton tee from her body and dropped it to the ground. The heat of his gaze was unmissable and Felicity felt it while tiny beads of sweat misted her nearly-bare chest.

Each breath she took pushed her breasts tight against the edges of her black bra. The sheen of the fabric teased the light from the fire like tiny fingers cupping and caressing her body.

Oliver observed intently as Felicity's slender fingers balanced one strap at the cusp of her willowy shoulder. But, before she pushed the strap over the edge, Oliver stopped it with his fingers stapling over hers.

Her chin tipped up at him and her lips parted to speak, but before she could, Oliver gently guided the strap off her shoulder himself.

Felicity shivered and her skin prickled when Oliver's mouth consumed the cords of her neck in impiously-slow swallows.

His name bled from her lips like a sigh as he dragged his lips higher up her neck, leaving a wash of shivers in their wake. His arm curved around her narrow waist before his fingers splayed over her naked spine, holding her close and pulling her nearer.

Oliver's decadent kisses reached the tip of her jaw and Felicity could only whimper while the rich, thick heat of his breath melted into the delicate skin behind her ear. "Say the words again Felicity," he begged, threads of desperation making his voice into a husky whisper.  
Her eyes grew heavy and she wet her bottom lip with a single swipe of her tongue. "I trust you," she breathed.

As the 'you' dripped like molasses from her mouth, Oliver sunk his lips into her skin, pushing her neck to the side which he caught in the palm of his hand. Her body trembled and her hands clasped onto his shirt to keep herself steady while his lips thoroughly devoured her.

It was slow and calculated, each kiss sending a pulse of electricity down the threads of her neck and fanning out down her shoulders and towards her aching nipples; and he followed it, perfectly tracing the firing nerves down her body as though he could sense them.

Her head lay weightless in the palm of his hand while his thumb gently coaxed breathy pants from her lips while he grazed the pad over it.

Felicity could feel each inhale he took through his nose, deep in the hollow of her shoulder as his teeth lightly nicked her jutted collarbone.

"I told you I can smell fear," he spoke into her skin and a veil of his breath coated her like a misty fog.  
Her body swayed on the spot, enraptured by him and almost solely at his disposal as no one had ever kissed her skin with such precision. "I'm not afraid of you," she hushed as she twisted her fists in his shirt.  
"I know." She felt his smile tickle her skin. He kissed back up the threads of her throat a little faster than before, tipping back her neck slightly so his mouth could float off her chin.

Her eyes slowly opened as his thumb soothed across the blush on her cheek. She looked at him, the wicks of orange flames dancing reflectively around his pearled irises and the smile that grew over his full lips.

As she blinked up at him, Oliver's fingers trickled down her chest and over the seamless edge of her simple black bra. She keened as his index finger stopped, perfectly, above her tight and aching nipple.

"I can also smell arousal," he breathed, raspy and hot. "I can taste the heat from your body in the air."  
As Felicity watched him he inhaled deeply, letting her heady aroma engulf his senses.

His fingers drew tiny clockwise circles above her nipple making her breathing shudder with pleasure. He saw the makings of a fine scarlet blush down her throat which bled down towards her chest.

"I can track your blood as it pulses down your body," Oliver explained before he pressed a finger into her breast; enough to be felt but not enough to feel anything other than pleasure. He dropped down an inch before tapping the underside of her breast, mimicking her pulse. Another inch, closer to her core, another tap.

"I can feel each quickening in your pulse as it happens," he disclosed, though barely a whisper. He captured her lips surprisingly, but her mouth fell eagerly open to him as his tongue caressed the edges of hers. While he kissed her with bruising intensity, that single finger slid down her chest with a heavy drag, to her navel.

As he broke back from the kiss he dragged her lower lip through his teeth, pleasingly-slow. Under his finger he felt the heat pooling in her core and the warmth spreading between her legs. The threads in his throat grew suffocating and tight as his desires became palpable.

She could see the tension in his body and the fear that gripped his eyes, but she wasn't afraid, shown by the uneven smile that curved her lips. Her fingers sneaked under the hem of his Henley before they climbed up the taut lines of his abdomen, hooking her thumbs around the fabric and dragging it up with them.

When her palms reached the convex of his chest, her nails lightly pricked the skin as they curved inward. She leaned closer, carefully watching his expression before she placed a tender kiss at the tip of the light smattering of hair that grew up from his pelvis. Her bottom lip dipped into the small dent of his navel and she felt his body shiver when she crawled up the deep trench up towards his hipbone.

"It doesn't seem fair that you can sense all this about me," she hummed as her nose drifted across his firm stomach. Her eyes danced with playfulness as she paused at his centre and then kissed a path up to his salty chest. After Felicity lifted his shirt as high as she comfortably could, Oliver took over and tore it unceremoniously off his body.

Her mouth reached the bottom of his throat before she lifted onto the balls of her feet. His skin was warm, almost hot, as she wrapped her lips around his Adam's apple and gently sucked.

The temperature in his body rose while shivers of electricity jolted throughout his body, all originating from the spot where her lips grazed his skin. His pupils dilated and his fingertips burned with a thousand sensations.

Gripping his teeth together at the back of his jaw he stuttered her name. She left the kiss tattooed into his skin as she looked curiously up at him.

"Say the words again," he begged, his voice fraying at the edges with ragged breaths.  
She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra before sliding the twisted straps down her static arms. Felicity shivered as the cool air tangled with the warm fringes of the fire, and the two fought against her chest. But her eyes stayed focused on him and the way his eyes seemed to track down her body while his lips stayed bowed in the centre as he breathed.

She flicked open the top button of her shorts and shimmed them down her silky legs before she kicked them off at her feet. Naked, except for her simple cotton panties, Felicity stepped forward and took both of Oliver's hands into her own.

"You keep asking me to say it because it's something you can't sense isn't it?" Felicity asked softly as her thumbs sunk into his wrists, feeling the heavy thump of his pulse. "Because trust isn't a simple emotion that has a physiological reaction is it? You ask me to say it because for some reason you don't think you're worthy of it?"

His breath trembled from his lips but he said no words.

"Trust can't be demanded or forced, it's only given freely." She turned his arms so his palms faced the ceiling. From the crook of his elbow to the heel of his hand Felicity drew lazy lines down his forearms before they floated off the edge.

"You ask," she whispered as she took a step closer, "because you want to know."  
"Yes," he rasped as her aroma fragranced the air.  
"You ask," she reached up and pecked the faintest kiss against his lips, "because you have to know."

His fingers throbbed and his chest tightened.  
"Yes."  
A soft smile warmed her expression as she blindly guided his hands to her body, anchoring them to her waist. "I trust you."

He kissed her, punishingly deep to swallow her tantric moans as his hands tightened around her waist. He lifted her with ease; she was tiny in his hands, and her legs surrounded him as she ground her body against his chest while their tongues went to battle.

It was furious, as fast and rushed breaths were all they were left with between their crashing lips. Her heat from behind the thin weave of cotton radiated against his naked chest and stirred up his instincts to the point where they grip him so vividly that he growled, carnal and ravaging, against her mouth.

As if knowing his reaction hinged on her, Felicity rolled her tongue across the seam of his lips to sooth him.

They stumbled together a few short strides, until they fell against a smooth cave wall, made such by the relentless trickle of water moving down it and shaping its edges over hundreds of years.

The cold dampness took Felicity by surprise and she hissed as it blanched her back. But, the discomfort was no more than fleeting as his heat warmed her and her own body became tortuously scolding and begged for that cool respite.

Her fingers coiled in his hair, nails raking over his scalp while his mouth devoured hers, jealously taking in every whimper and petite moan, until, breathless, they had to pull apart.

Oliver moved to his knees with his large hands swamping the back of her thighs. Wordlessly he leaned forward and kissed her aching mound over the top of her panties as he watched the enjoyment colour her cheeks. He didn't ask, but she gave him the words he craved even so, "I trust you Oliver," she breathed.

Hearing her lips caress his name, Oliver's teeth clamped over the waistband of her panties and he tugged. They jerked down enough to expose her to his wanton gaze before his hand took them the rest of the way down her leg, his knuckles deliriously grazing the path down her leg.

He gently lifted her foot at the ankle and spread her wide as he raised one leg over his shoulder and Felicity balanced it there.

He marked her skin with long and fervent kisses up Felicity's inner thigh, and her core was shaking by the time he reached her apex. Memorised by her scent, Oliver paused just above her mound to savour it before he moved closer and inhaled her deeply, exhaling a hedonistic sigh that reverberated through her sex.

Once again, he didn't ask, but the words dripped shallowly from her mouth all the same just as his tongue sliced between her wet folds, "I trust you."

Her taste was exquisite, as her thin and silky arousal enveloped the tip of his tongue. Heavily, his hand slid up her body before it came to rest with his palm on her stomach.

Oliver could feel the heat from her core and the dampness of her skin while it bled into the lines on his hand. Her body was desperate with warmth pooled low in her centre as the muscles that surrounded it twitched faintly.

Every delicate pass his tongue made between her dripping petals had Felicity's body heat rising and her abdomen clenching. He would make this fast, give her the release her body was craving; and his just as much.

The flat of his tongue rode over the tip of her knotted clit and Felicity's cries of pleasure echoed off the chamber walls. She folded her hand over his and pushed his fingers deeper into her skin, enjoying the rush of his finger tip brushing the underside of her breasts as his full hand span nearly swallowed her svelte stomach up.

Oliver could feel each shiver and each trembled breath she took, and when her breath settled for a moment he propelled his tongue into her wet entrance. Felicity gasped silently as her pulsing walls reactively clamped around him while he pushed deeper until he was all the way inside and teasing her walls with light flicks of his puckish tongue.

Her body was warm and wet and the softness that greeted his tongue was beyond comparison. He stilled and let her tiny squeezes dance down the length of his tongue before his mouth formed around her sex. From the deep pull of his first suck, Felicity sobbed out his name, her entire body on the brink of utter, unimaginable delirium.

In a beautiful rhythm with his teasing sucks, Oliver thrust his tongue in and out of her quaking passage; fast and then slow, deep and then shallow.

Every inch of her was veiled with sweat but for the icy beads of water from the wall behind her that weaved down her spine as they kept her barely on the edge. With his free hand, Oliver swept two fingers, with just a hint of pressure, along the smooth skin between her sex and her puckered hole, coaxing her pleasure with insatiable accuracy.

Felicity's breathing became tight and ragged, and her body fired with tiny jolts of what felt like electricity burning holes in her skin. Her clit was budded and swollen, and as the pressure builds, she feared her body might literally collapse as Oliver continues touching her with such precision that she can barely function.

Noting the echoing thump of her heartbeat, Oliver pulled back and replaced his tongue with two curved fingers that hooked down her drenched walls while his thumb teased her clit in tight, rough circles.

He could see the pleasure on her face; her hair was glued to her temples, the shallows of her shoulders and clavicle were pooled with sweat, and the air was blissfully filled with her musk.

"Trust me Felicity, give yourself over into it," he urged as he buried his fingers to their knuckles.

Braced against the wall, Felicity climaxed in a wash of satiny release that Oliver feasted on with unadulterated groans, until he had his fill and her leg drifted off his shoulder, trembling as it reached the floor.

Still reeling wonderfully from her orgasm, Felicity couldn't speak in anything more than keening moans when Oliver began kissing her breasts; tugging, nipping, and slicing his tongue across her aching nipples while his fingers thrust relentlessly to keep her body on the tip of another orgasm.

She could barely hold herself up, and when she came a second time around his thick digits, her body shook and trembled until she collapsed into his waiting arms.

Oliver nuzzled her, rucking his nose into her drenched hair as he carried her to the bed. The playful flames instantly warmed her body as Oliver lay her carefully down. He shadowed her from above before he lowered his mouth to her neck and delicately kissed the crimson blush there.

Her trembling fingers began to discover his body, swerving through the deep crevices that were carved in his abdomen and running her thumbs through the channels down his pelvis. Everywhere she touched was taut and sculptured, but it quivered and twitched under her feathery touch.

When his mouth reached hers, Felicity pushed against the kiss and lifted her back off the ground, forcing Oliver onto his knees. With their lips tangled and his hands caressing her back, Felicity blindly loosened his pants and roughly pushed them down to his mid-thighs.

His erect cock sprung out and Felicity severed the kiss to see it. It was wet at the head, glistening in the orange hues, and rigidly thick. The shaft pulsed in her hand as she ran her palm slowly underneath it.

Her eyes said enough and Oliver stood to remove the last shred of clothing between them before they lay back down with a slow and passionate kiss. Felicity relished the weight of his body as he pressed his hard planes into her soft mounds, while his cock brushed between her folds; a fresh slick of arousal wetting them.

His head skirted her entrance until she tipped her hips upwards and took him into her sweltering entrance. After that, the first thrust made her gasp into his waiting mouth. It was deep and filing, and her body reacted to him with tight, crushing walls that swallowed him down until every inch of him was seated in her.

Oliver settled, their bodies tightly pressed together and their eyes entangled in each other, and through the thin fans of warm light he could see her hazy smile and her softly lidded eyes. He kissed each one, delicate and faint, as he let her body adjust to his size. She moved first with a gently sway of her hips, rolling up like an ocean wave to edge him deeper and skate his head across her pillowed walls. She watched the shadows form in his eyes, but they were still there, focused intently on her, and with every shallow breath Oliver took, she swore he said her name; tethering himself to her.

As his thrust began to grow in both speed and ferocity, Felicity embedded her nails into his shoulders and skimmed her thumbs over the edges of his unshaven jaw. The rucks were deep and wild, until the air was static and pulsing with their frantic pants.

Her scent was all he could smell and her whispered gasps were all he could hear as everything about Felicity engulfed him. His tongue wiped through her clavicle, feasting on the pools of sweat he found there as his name shook desperately from her lips.

Each thrust became punishingly deep and he bit down on her skin, marring her snowy shoulder with dots of violent red that he soothed with his tongue. She spoke his name a second time, "Oliver," breathy and warm as it tangled around his ear.

He looked at her, his thick hair brushing against her delicate shoulders before her hands cupped his face and she whispered his name a third time with a smile set across her lips; anchoring him there, with her, unwilling to let him go.

He kissed her lips with bruising intensity as she swallowed his guttural growl. Drenched in sweat and on the brink of climax, Felicity feathered her fingers down his cheek and whispered his name, so beautifully pure.

She came for a third time with his name embedded in her throat as her warmth blanketed his thrumming cock. With only the thinnest fibres of control holding him at the precipice of released, Oliver began to withdraw when Felicity clawed her nails down his back, hooked her legs around his waist, and lifted into him, taking him deeper once again.

"Trust me," she breathed, her eyes looking engagingly at his.  
Oliver nodded as he rutted deeper with uneven thrusts until he spilled himself into her in ribbons of explosive release.

His thighs shook as his thrusts began to slow and Oliver lowered his lips to suck gently on Felicity rapid pulse on her throat as the last spasms of her orgasm strangle his shaft.

As his cock softened inside her, Oliver gently brushed back the wet strands of hair that were stuck to her face. Her lips were smiling gently and her eyes were beautifully wide. He kissed both her cheeks languidly.

She was everything good and pure; everything he's not.

She could sense the troubled words echoing through his thoughts as he lay down beside her. She curled into his damp body and Oliver embraced her tightly before she kissed the seam of his ear with a feather gliding on a breeze. "I trust you," she assured him, breathless.

**/**

Felicity didn't remember dozing off but she must have as she slowly rouses beside him. It still felt like night and the fire beside them was still rich and rampant. With her ear to his chest, without stirring, Felicity listened to a few breaths he took. He'd pulled a blanket over them, but she wasn't sure if he was asleep or awake.

She stirred a little and she felt his fingers gently stroke her spine in slow and measured lines. She looked up at him and wasn't surprised to find him awake. When he saw she was too, Oliver smiled and whispered a soft "Hello."

Felicity rolled her lips together to hide a giant smile as she sat up a little, tucking her elbow under her body. "I'm sorry I guess I fell asleep."  
He leisurely tucked her hair behind her ear, the smile never dropping from his lips. "I don't mind," he paused as though he was finding trouble in expressing the words. "This is nice."  
"It is," she replied as her fingers swept over his naked chest and combed through the light smattering of sandy-brown hair.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked with worry woven in his tone.  
Felicity shook her head, all her body felt was the perfect ache of satisfaction. He touched the spot on her shoulder where he'd sunk his teeth into the taut skin, but it was nothing more than a dusting of rosy blush. "That's nothing," she assured him, stopping the question before he asked it.  
"Was that you with me?" she wondered with a nervous undertone.  
"Yes," he answered as he lifted her chin with a delicate touch, "you kept me there with you."

"You know," she started with a coquettish smirk, "for someone who has been marooned on an island for nearly five years, you sure haven't forgotten a few things." She blinked as she nipped edge of her swollen bottom lip. Reactively her naked body rolled into his thigh and Oliver bled out a happy sigh.

But, there was something troubling his eyes.  
She sat up a little higher and held the blanket across her chest. "Everything okay? No regrets?"  
He scooped his hand around her neck and drew her down into a tender kiss. "No," he answered as they broke back. "It's just, I haven't always been here, on the island."  
Felicity sat up a little higher and her eyes wordlessly sought answers.

"I was a weapon they created," he admitted as he stared up at the ceiling. "A weapon they used."

**/ 1015 days ago**

The filtered air was kept at a pleasant temperature of 72 degrees. Fall decorations coloured the shop windows in burnt oranges and deep reds. The lunchtime crowd has disbanded and only a few shoppers remained in the slower moments before the schools were let out in less than an hour. The music coming over the PA system was faint and instrumental. The water fountain behind Oliver was uneven and the left pipe likely had a blockage in it that made the water flow just that little bit slower.

He wore charcoal jeans and a black jacket worn over an ash-grey hoody. A Dodgers baseball cap was pulled low over his cropped hair. He chewed gum and played mindlessly on his phone while a small earpiece gave him instructions.

"Target on route."  
Oliver glanced casually up from his phone screen to the escalators just ahead of him. A heavyset man was walking with a child, a boy aged about 9. There were two other men with him, heavy set and wearing dark clothing. One walked with a limp – an old injury no doubt.

They weren't speaking English and the child was wearing far more clothes than he needed to, not used to the slightly colder climate they found themselves in.

"Target acquired, awaiting orders," Oliver responded under his breath.  
A fresh batch of donuts came out from a nearby oven and a toddler in a shop nearby dropped their toy.

"Confirmed. You have your orders."

Oliver robotically stood and pulled the brim of his hat a little lower.  
"Understood."

He slipped his phone into his pocket and walked decisively towards the group. He looked down, watching the screen of his phone. As he brushed through the group without glancing up, Oliver scratched a tiny poisoned blade across the older man's hand.

He kept walking without missing a step, even when he heard the screams of a child behind him. Before he turned down towards the exit, Oliver glanced back to see the man convulsing on the floor. Three seconds later, he stopped.

"Confirmation?"  
"Confirmed. Target dead."

Mechanically, Oliver left the Mall through the side entrance and walked out into the fresh air just as a black van rolled up. The door opened and he got in.

Onto the next.

**AN: thank you for reading/reviewing. Full fic can also be read on AO3 (complete)**


	14. Scent

Felicity listened quietly with her hand gently resting on Oliver's chest as she sat up beside him and he told her what he knew, albeit fractured memories and hazy reminders. When he was done, she could see the guilt and regret eating away at his expression as his eyes grew glassy with the same.

"Did you ever know who they were?" she asked softly while she kept her hand tethered to his chest.  
"Sometimes," he sighed as he glanced only momentarily at her. He didn't feel he deserved any more than that. "If we needed to know who they were then we were told. Sometimes they were diplomats, rivals, people someone just wanted to disappear." He swallowed and it felt like knives down his throat. "Sometimes they were people someone wanted to make a statement with," he admitted.

After a few moments of silence, Oliver continued. "I knew what I was doing, but not that it was actually me doing it." Felicity watched as a heavy sigh left his lips and deflated his chest. "At least that's what I remember. Every time we returned most of our memories were wiped, but every now and then I see their faces."

He rolled onto his side and offered her a bleak smile. "Some more than others," he admitted quietly; knowing that there were some faces, some acts, that no amount of 'mind correction' could erase.  
"They took your mind and they manipulated it," Felicity replied as she brushed back hair from his face. "That's what your friend tried to stop."  
His face relaxed into the warmth of her palm as he nodded subtly. "So it wasn't you," Felicity assured him as her fingers lifted his chin so he looked up at her.

"This doesn't scare you?" Oliver asked as he sat up, and when he did the blanket covering him pooled in his lap.  
Felicity leaned in and pecked a chaste kiss against his lips. Leaving her mouth precariously close to his, she answered his concerns. "I'm not afraid of the dark Oliver, and I'm not afraid of you." She lay her palm flat over his heart. "This is what they made you on the outside, but I trust the man on the inside. Maybe I'm crazy but when I said I trusted you, I meant that."  
His hand folded over hers, swallowing it. "Thank you," he breathed.

"The Doctor, your friend, did he ever think there was a cure?" Felicity asked as Oliver stood and began to redress.  
"He thought there might be," Oliver answered as he buttoned his pants. "At least that was what he told me."  
"But with him gone," Felicity wondered aloud, with a sigh.

Oliver crouched near his knapsack and rummaged through the same until he found what he was looking for.  
"He gave me all his notes the night before we planned to escape," Oliver started as he ran a finger around the edges of the worn notebook. "In this is every experiment that worked and every one that didn't. It's nearly a decade of formulas and notes."  
Felicity wrapped the blanket around her naked body before she padded over to where Oliver stood.

He gave her the notebook without question and Felicity thumbed through the meticulously-kept notes; each page was filled with words, numbers, diagrams, and carefully kept records.

"He gave me this to keep it away from them," Oliver explained as Felicity handed it back. "Aside from what I have in my veins, they want this. I guess they think they can synthesize more, using what he learned over the years."  
"So, they're not going to stop until they find you, that book, or both?" Felicity asked.  
Oliver nodded as he placed the notebook in one of the crates. "I can't let them have either."

Felicity's shoulders straightened and she nodded her head decisively. "So what do we do about it?"  
"I had a plan," Oliver started as his thumb played with the edge of her lip, enamoured by the tiny smile that sat there.  
"Well okay, let's do that."  
"It wasn't a very good one. It involved a lot of explosives and gunfire," Oliver admitted.  
Felicity's lips popped open with a silent Oh. "You weren't planning on walking away from here, were you?"

Oliver wordlessly retrieved the revolver his father had used and held it carefully in the palms of his hands. "No, there isn't a way off here for me."  
Felicity looked down at the gun in Oliver's hand. "You were going to take your own life?"  
The question hung unanswered for only seconds, but it felt like much longer.

"I couldn't have them find my body even if I destroyed everything they had. I needed to be sure." His answer was dry and bitter in his throat; it had been so simple once and he'd made his peace with it, but everything had changed with her.  
Felicity swayed uneasily on the balls of her feet. "When was this? When were you planning on doing this?" she asked, her lips quaking over the words.

Oliver closed his hand around the handle of the gun and dropped it to his side. "The day you arrived," he confessed. "There are tunnels that lead underneath parts of their encampment, I had them ready to blow up."  
"What stopped you?" Felicity asked while she held herself tightly around the waist.  
"You," he admitted readily. "When I first saw the helicopter I knew it was something different, the flight path wasn't one of theirs. When I saw it get hit and start to fall I wasn't sure where it would crash." His fist clenched around the smooth wax-coated wood of the gun handle.

"When I saw you, I," he paused, unsure if he should admit to the instant pull she'd had on him. "My plans changed," he finished.  
"And what about now?" Felicity questioned as she ran two shaking fingers down his hand which clutched the gun.  
"I will get you off this island, any way I can," he promised, but one word stuck in Felicity's mind, you.  
"Us, get us of this island," she corrected, her eyes begging for it to be so.

But, Oliver's face said it all. That wasn't part of his plan.  
"I believe that you can live a life out there Oliver, you don't need to die here," she pleaded, barely holding back the tears that filled the corners of her eyes.

He looked down and slowly rocked his head. "The people I've hurt," he whispered, ashamed.  
"You need to forgive yourself for the things you had no control over, there are people that need you, people that want you back," she commented while she held his hand and squeezed. "You can control this, I know you can. You did tonight, with me," she breathed softly. "There is another way, there has to be."

"I can't get into the compound without them knowing, there are cameras everywhere and none of the tunnels get me close enough."  
"Cameras?" Felicity's piqued curiosity lifted her brows and her voice.  
"Dozens of them, there are drones and outreaches across the island. That's how they knew you were approaching before you ever saw them," Oliver explained.  
With her interest still sparked, Felicity continued, "They're all connected?"  
Oliver nodded, he knew enough about it to know that. "At the control tower in one of the corners, it's all run from there." He also knew it was pointless, or at least seemingly so. "But there isn't a way in, not without been seen."  
Felicity chewed on her bottom lip for a considered moment. "I don't need to get in, I just need to be close enough."  
"What?" Oliver enquired, now his attention piqued.  
Felicity excitedly rolled her lips. "What else, what else about this place?" she asked with a quickened tone.  
"Guards, electric fences, the bunker is underground and that's where they keep any of the stuff they have left, but the doors are all automated and reinforced, I won't get through them," Oliver remarked. He was strong, but they were built to house people like him.  
"But I can," she hummed.  
"What?" Oliver said the word for the second time in less than a minute.  
"What if I could turn off the cameras and have you walk on in, what then?"  
"How?"

Felicity looked down at the scavenged junk, "With that."  
"That?"  
"And this," she added as she pointed to her head. "I might spend most of my time deleting porn from office computers at QC, but trust me that's not what I'm the best at. This is."

Oliver could almost see the cogs turning in her head. "What if I could trip one of their outposts to make it seem like you were there, they'd send almost everyone out to get you right?"  
Oliver nodded slowly, "Probably."  
"Then you walk right on in, destroy what you need to and set detonators to destroy the rest. Then meet me at the airplane hangar. You can fly a plane right?"  
"I can."  
"So that's what we'll do then, that's our plan."  
"You really think you can do this?" he asked, but he didn't doubt her.  
Felicity raised his hand and pressed his fingers into her left wrist. "You're almost like a walking lie detector right?"  
He very nearly laughed. "Almost."  
She looked at him with clear and focused eyes while his fingers felt the thump of her pulse. "I can do this Oliver, trust me."

He watched her intently, not even noting a flinch in her demeanour and every thump of her heartbeat was measured and even.  
"Once we're away from this place, we can find someone to help you," she promised.  
His hand turned around hers and he brushed his thumb over the backs of her knuckles before they slipped apart. "And if not, Felicity you know what I'll need to do."  
She looked down at the gun with glassy eyes. "I understand," she replied weakly. "But, Oliver, please give this a chance."  
He nodded; he would. "Okay, what do you need?"

**/**

The next morning, Oliver took Felicity out through the top hatch just after sunrise. The air was dewy and the gentle breeze carried a little extra salt with it. From where they stood, albeit on a slightly raised platform, there was little to be seen in any direction but dense forest. He took her hand and walked her towards a tree nearby which had a trunk she doubted even Oliver could get his fingertips to touch if he spread his arms around the base.  
"Do you want to go up?" he asked with a glint in his eyes and a smile hooking up one side of his lips.  
"Up there?" she gaped as she tracked her eyes skyward; and it appeared the tree disappeared into the low-hanging clouds.  
"There isn't a view like it," he remarked as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  
Felicity swallowed the lump lodged in her throat before she nodded. "Okay, let's do it," she looked up and squinted. "But how?"  
Oliver turned, putting his back in front of her, before he crouched down enough that his shoulders were near her chest. "Climb on."  
She let out a soft and breathy laugh, but climbed onto his back all the same. She coiled her legs around his waist and wrapped her arms over his shoulders, locking them at her wrists.  
"I haven't had one of these since college," she laughed softly near his ear and Oliver stood up slowly.  
"Hold on tight Felicity," he said warmly as he stood at the base of the tree and looked up.  
She pecked a chaste kiss to his cheek. "I will," she answered warmly, and he knew what she meant; both in that moment and from here on out – she wasn't letting him go.

Oliver took his time to climb the tree carefully, but every so often she must have looked down and then her arms grew tighter around his throat. He'd tap her wrist gently and she'd apologetically release some of the pressure before he kept climbing. It might have felt like hours for Felicity, but in less than 10 minutes they'd made it almost to the top. Stopping at a sturdy branch, Oliver helped a nervous Felicity off his back.

He held himself against the trunk of the tree and wrapped a strong, secure arm around Felicity's waist as she leaned back against him.

He had been right, there was nothing quite like the breath-taking view she was seeing. A gentle breeze swept through the tree making an almost melodic whoosh through the leaves. The water was ahead of them and it looked something akin to a beautiful watercolour painting with stunning brush strokes of brilliant blues and small foamy caps of white where the waves came closer to the land.

To the left Felicity could see the familiar grove of trees near where the wreckage sat. "Is that the plane?" she asked as she pointed towards it.  
Oliver's nuzzled his nose in close to her ear and answered her with a soft, "Yes."  
She recognised the waterfall close by; at least from their vantage point, and beyond that was a spectacular view of the island's landscape.

"If there wasn't some made people trying to hunt you down, this would be a pretty magical place," she breathed as Oliver languidly kissed her neck.

They stayed up there until Oliver felt the wind shift and a taste of petrol dappled the air; they weren't close by, but Oliver wanted to ensure Felicity was safe underground before they were even in a near radius.

As Felicity's feet touched the floor she asked a question that had been sitting on the tips of her lips for some time.  
"Are the others like you?" she asked as Oliver straightened up.  
"In some respects, one has a serum entwined with reptilian. He was a soldier and here before I was, but he was only reborn after the hybrid serum worked on me. His is a second generation but he's built like a tank."  
Felicity nodded silently as she listened with her bottom lip snagged between her teeth. He could tell the idea scared her, but that she needed to hear it all the same.  
"The other, I don't know what his hybrid was but he was bred from my blood and another's so it's safe to assume he has much of the same abilities as I do."  
"Who was he?"  
Oliver shook he head slowly, "I don't know. We never met."

"What about the man that runs it all?"  
"There isn't much I can tell you about him either, his name is Damien. The power he possesses comes from something else, something mystical," Oliver explained. "At his peak, not even I could kill him. But he draws his power from the island. Yao Fei used to say that the island gives power but demands servitude in repayment."  
"So he can't leave?"  
"Not if he wants to retain his power. He's tethered to this Island."  
Oliver paused to focus on a rumble approaching in the distance.  
"They're looking for something," Oliver remarked, noting that there appeared more concentration of people moving together than was normal. "You should go back under now and I'm going to have a look for those things you wanted."

Felicity looked down at the hidden door and nodded.  
"Keep the door locked until I knock like we discussed," Oliver commented  
"One, one-two, one, one, one," she answered with a frayed smile. But before she left him, Felicity asked one more question that was bothering her. "Were you ever in Starling on a job?"  
"I'm not sure," he answered truthfully. "Why?"  
"I don't know, just asking," she shrugged.  
"Most of the time I didn't know where I was, all I remember was being there, doing the job, then moving onto the next. They often wiped our memories when we returned to the island," Oliver tried his best to explain the fractured thoughts in his head. "What Yao Fei gave me back was the things he knew, things I had told him, the things that grounded me as a person. Everything else I have is like looking at memories that I know are mine, but I don't recognise them. They're fractures, or splinters, and I've never known what I could trust and what I couldn't."  
"Maybe you have all the pieces of the jigsaw, you just don't know the picture you're making yet," Felicity offered with a sage smile.

As they were speaking Ben appeared from the treetops and jumped down onto Oliver's shoulder before the primate looked between the two of them, one and then the other.  
"Do you think he knows about us?" Felicity whispered while Ben plucked insects from his stomach.

Oliver leaned in and kissed her deeply. Their mouths stayed closed, but the air around them grew warm and sticky, before Oliver pulled back, leaving Felicity's mouth slightly open. It was a raucous chant from Oliver's shoulder, one of screeching and chatting, that broke the silence.

"He does now," Oliver said with a smirk.  
"Come on Ben," Felicity spoke as she tapped her shoulder, "let's go into the basement."  
Ben jumped from Oliver's shoulder to Felicity's, before she opened the hatch leading down into the cave.  
"He won't go underground," Oliver started to say but when Felicity stepped down the first two rungs of the ladder and Ben stayed on her shoulder, he stopped. "Never mind, apparently he wants to prove me wrong."

"Be safe," she sighed as Oliver reached to close the hatch above her.  
He kissed her quickly. "I will."

**/**

Oliver returned a few hours later, and was happy to find that Felicity had kept the door locked. He was also impressed to find that the pile of bits appeared to resemble something, although he couldn't be sure what exactly it was. She had organised two crates and some planks of wood to create a desk she could kneel at to work.

He emptied his knapsack beside the desk and she applauded happily at the treasure trove he'd brought her; tape, two radios, two spark plugs, and a motorcycle piston.

But, before Felicity thanked him, her eyes scoured every angle of his face looking for any injury, despite knowing Oliver was, essentially, inhuman. He knew exactly what she was doing and a smile turned up the corners of his lips.  
"Felicity, I'm fine. I got this stuff from an abandoned outpost."  
"Why is it abandoned?"  
His smile lifted it. "So you can use this stuff?" Oliver asked, conspicuously changing the subject.  
"Absolutely," she answered gleefully. "I will need to find the frequency they work from and I'll need to get close enough to hijack the signal." She was talking a mile a minute and she only paused to inhale deeply before she continued. "You said there were tunnels nearby that ran underneath them?"  
Oliver nodded concisely.  
"Good, once I have something to work with I'll need you to take me there, and hope it's a strong enough signal to pick up." Idly as Felicity spoke her hand brushed down his arm. "Oh, you're really, uh," she inhaled sharply as his muscles twitched under her fingertips. "Sweaty," she hummed, "You're really sweaty."  
"Sor-," he started.  
Felicity bit her lip and smiled. "I like it."

Her eyes wandered over to the mirrored pool that reflected the hung lights like a night sky of stars. "Are there water snakes?" she asked as she nodded towards the glossy water.  
"No snakes," Oliver replied with a breathy rasp while he watched her fingertips play with the edge of her top; he knew what she was thinking and a touch of pheromones dappled the air between them.

Felicity began to lift her top up her body as she kept her eyes on him. "I'm a little hot too, maybe we could cool off?" Felicity lifted her top from her body and dropped it behind her. She recognised the way his pupils dilated and his clenched jaw tightened down his throat. Felicity offered him her wrist and Oliver brushed his nose along the inside, closing his eyes as her scent raptured him.

Soon after, Felicity shed the rest of her clothes and waded into the water. The cold was instant and biting, like a hundred knives, but there was a pleasure she found in the sudden jolt of the temperature.

"Would you like to join me?" she asked as she submerged her body to just above her breasts and waded back towards the waterfall.

Felicity felt the water cascading from above down her spine, the chill was deep and penetrating. But, there was something organically sexual about it when it was in tandem with Oliver's heated gaze which warmed from her core.

His lips were docile and there lived the faintest of smiles at the corner of one near his usually stoic dimple. But, his eyes were shadowed and focused. Splinters of reflections of light were caught in them, making them animated as he stripped and waded into the water.

His fingertips traced the ripples that spread out around his waist as he closed in on her. The icy water lapped at her breasts, making her nipples hard, almost painfully so, but again the thoughts around her comfort, or lack of it, left off as she found herself ravelled in his stare.

Although the water was barely above her chest, and barely reaching his; no light penetrated below a few inches and so both their bodies were submerged in the shadowy embrace below the water level.

"You're shivering," Oliver spoke softly as his eyes tracked the tiny speckles of goosebumps across her body from a distance that was impossible for anyone else.  
"You can see from there?" Felicity asked, a faint shake in her voice as droplets from the waterfall above her ricocheted off her bare shoulders.

He paused to taste the air, letting his tongue pat the edge of his moist lip. "You're also excited." He smiled as the last word left his lips and even in the limited light he saw her cheeks blush.

"And what about you Oliver; are you," she paused to cascade her fingertips down the slope of her neck, knowingly tracing the trail his lips took the night before, "excited?"  
The final word left her lips as a breathy whisper that played pleasurably at Oliver's ear, as though she spoke it so softly that she knew only he would be able to hear it above the sound of the waterfall behind her.

Wordlessly Oliver closed the space between them and from beneath the water his fingertips glided up the side of her leg and hip before his palm settled into her waist. He captured her lips in a demandingly amorous kiss that elicited such power that Felicity felt her legs waver beneath on her and his grip on her waist, holding her up, made absolute sense; as though he knew exactly how her body would react.

There was no mistaking his rigid cock as it brushed against the inside of her leg, casually bobbing in the undercurrent from the waterfall and in spite of the chilly temperature.

When his lips released hers, Felicity stabled herself by sinking her palms around the wet and hard convex of his chest.

"If it wasn't for the people hunting us down, this would feel very blue lagoon," she quipped as her thumbs grazed through the smattering of dirty blond hair in the centre of his chest.

Oliver brushed the rough pads of his fingers up her cheek as he pinned back tendrils of damp hair.  
"I'll keep you safe Felicity," he promised before he leaned in and kissed her temple, staying a few moments longer to let her familiar scent dance across his senses.

It was impossible to explain just how much Felicity believed that to be true. It was as though time held a different currency on the island and every minute spent there carried the weight of a week.

"I know," she breathed and the relief on his face was unmistakable. Her fingers wove down the tight shapes of his torso before they dipped into the water and coiled around his hard shaft.

He inhaled sharply with a hiss when Felicity began to slowly pump his throbbing cock. His eyes closed and his full lips parted with a gravelled sigh when she began to increase the tempo. Her free hand cupped the side of his face and, keeping him wordlessly with her, Felicity smoothed her thumb over the apple of his cheek.

Lifting herself onto her toes, Felicity pulled him closer by his length and brushed his pulsing head through her tepid folds. His lips blindly sought out her wrist before he peppered it with a gush of chaste kisses. Her pulse became like a snake charmer to his ears as her light, natural fragrance kept her name on his lips.

His grip tightened and Felicity reactively glided faster down his shaft, rolling a thumb through the slit in his head which had the threads of his throat constricting with each pass.

Oliver's lips crashed into Felicity's with urgency and she opened to his surging tongue before she ground his cock against her smooth, wet thigh making him groan against her lips.

The kiss was frantic and heavy, near bruising and in contrast to the gentle sweeps of her thumb over his tensed jaw. She kept him locked there with her, his control on the fringes but perfectly seated in her two hands.

As her one hand quickened over his cock, the other slowed against his cheek; a perfect balance she had easily mastered. Oliver came in a thick ribbon of seed into the churned waters and a shudder of breaths into a perfect kiss.

Felicity had felt his orgasm like tiny quivers and jerks, and soon after he was going soft in her palm as she slowed to milk his last remnants. As he softened, so did the kiss until he pulled back and his eyes opened to smile down at her.

He folded his hand over hers and led her to the waterfall a few steps away. He kissed her, chaste and achingly interrupted, before he spun her in the water and held her back tight against his chest.

From the cusp of her shoulder to the dip of her neck, Oliver kissed a lingered path before his nose batted her ear lobe. "Put your feet up on the rocks," he instructed her, with a husky voice that she reacted to without question.

Her body floated up in the water, exposing almost all of her torso as she balanced her toes on the edge of the rocks behind the waterfall. The water itself fell onto her stomach like a wonderful massage with just enough pressure to feel it beneath the tingle of her skin.

His arms threaded under hers and he easily held her with one arm across her body, just under her chest. "Spread your legs," he whispered and Felicity did.

Oliver pulled her slowly back in the water until just the tips of her toes were hooking onto the smooth rocks and the water was hitting her low on the pelvis. Another half an inch and Felicity felt the wonderful pleasure of water beating down on her sex.

Instinctively, Felicity coiled her arms backwards around Oliver's neck as her hips swayed just under the curtain of water. He kissed her cheek as it reddened with blush before he rolled one of her pebbled nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Her pleasure spiked and her scent pulsing off her exposed skin became heavy with musk.

His hand left her breast and swam down to her clit as the water beat down on it. She shuddered in his arms and Oliver stubbed his calloused finger into her wound nub. The rhythm was erratic and the pace even more so, but long before she knew what she needed Oliver was doing it, thundering her full speed towards climax.

The chill of the water mixed with the heat of his flesh and the steady flow of the water fought against the spasmodic touch of his finger, until it was all too much and Felicity came with her eyes screwed shut, his mouth wrapped around her pulse, and her teeth embedded in her bottom lip.

When she was finished, her feet drifted from the rocks and Oliver turned her slowly in his arms to hold her quivering body against his.

He gently kissed the top of her head as they stayed like that for what felt like a lifetime.

Oliver closed his eyes to the moment with his nose resting against her head.

And, as he breathed her in; Oliver found something once lost.

**/ 887 days ago**

The air was still; the air-conditioning long since switched off. The room was dim, with only slithers of light from the bustling City peeking in from the slatted blinds.

The potted plants were dry, their soil not watered for two days now. The marbled floor was slick with a polish no older than a day.

The hum of electronics made the air alive, though compared to the movement on the street below it felt stagnant.

The dewy clouds threatened more rain even before the bespeckled beads from the last shower had dissipated or slid from the window panes.

He moved silently, and without reason or understanding he seemed to move with knowledge too.

But his focus was steely, and he never looked right from left as he obeyed his orders without question.

The glow of the monitor lit up his face and while it resembled the face in a picture frame nearby, there was no semblance of that lost son in him anymore.

Like a machine, he moved in decisive and unencumbered movements, never questioning the orders that were relayed by a single voice in his ear.

The echoed ding disrupted his regiment and Oliver looked up as his hand moved instantly to the dagger strapped to his waist.

The whirl off the elevator doors opening disguised his feet as they moved quickly into the deepest reaches of shadows, where the room faded into blackness; murky and enveloping.

"No witnesses."  
The order was final and he tapped his earpiece twice to signal in silence that the order was understood.

As the sound of heels clicked on the freshly polished marble, Oliver's large hand twisted tightly around the hilt of the sharpened blade.

They drew closer and he peeled it slowly out of its sheath.

The air bent around the interloper and a floral notes made it aromatic. She walked with a sway akin to a feline, but with the purpose of a cat with a target.

Her blonde hair caught the only light in the room, making it appear warm, almost glowing. She spoke as she walked, a low voice but not quite a whisper and he heard every word.

"You're cute," she leaned down, her hands on the oak desk, fingers splayed, pulse settled, perhaps a little uneven. "It's too bad you're, you know, dead." She blew out a soft sigh, her body temperature raised and a slight heat caught his nose.

Her painted lips moved around the words, but the air must have dried them because as she spoke she instinctively brushed the tip of her tongue between her parted lips.

Her hands snuck up to her svelte waist as she walked around the desk.  
"Which is obviously a lot worse for you than it is for me."

Her piercing eyes looked right at him as he kept the knife low at his thigh. She chatted to herself in a frustrated sigh before she moved on looking right past - or perhaps through - him.

His eyes narrowed in on the crimson rivers beneath the powdery skin on her neck, making his target.

Hints of her scent caught him and he took in more than just the light flowery hints of her perfume; a musk, an aroma, a pheromone...

It stole his attention and frustrated his focus.

And, before he could claw it back and raise the blade to strike from the shadows, if he needed to ... she was gone, leaving only a subtle remnant of her scent behind.

A scent he rediscovered some 860 odd days later as she lay unconscious on the jungle floor, bruised and battered.

A scent he had no recollection of knowing and yet it drew him in like a beacon.

A scent he now knew intimately as it was carved into his psyche.

The scent that belonged to the woman drawing languid lines down his back as they hugged in the brisk water.

It was unmistakable.

He knew her.


	15. Howl

When Oliver was done speaking, a silence fell over the cave, where only the ambient crackle of the fire was all that could be heard. He kept his head low and his eyes glued to the wrinkles on his hands as he wrung them together. He feared that if he looked up, he might be met with a barrage of emotions Felicity couldn't hide in her iridescent blue eyes; regret, fear, anger, horror – any one of those would be bad enough, and yet he knew she had every right to feel all of them simultaneously.

He was a monster, a beast.  
He wouldn't have hesitated to kill her if she'd stepped a little closer to those shadows.  
He would have followed orders; back then he always did.

He could offer her no explanation why he was there; he didn't know – didn't remember, and he could tell she had fretted with the question of what might have happened if she'd seen him, but she never asked. It simply laid there, unsaid but unsettling all the same.

Felicity knew.  
She could tell by the guilt threaded in his eyes and by the way his lip quivered when he spoke.

She knew; two and a half years ago if she had stepped into that dark corner of Moira Queen's office, curious about how the other half worked, she would have likely met a rather untimely death. A death at the hands of a man who she now found herself falling, quite possibly, in love with.

That was an unsettling truth.  
But it was a truth she also knew he could have kept from her, leaving her obliviously unaware.

But he didn't.  
He told her.

Even though there was no benefit to be found in it for him; he told her.

And that had to count for something

She leaned over and rested her hands on his wrestling ones, stilling them immediately. She watched him inhale deeply, hold it, and look up; prepared for whatever she was about to say.

"It's okay," she said softly, and a warm smile on her lips echoed the sentiment.  
He swallowed the breath he'd held, like daggers.  
"Are you sure?" he asked.  
A nod, simple and unassuming. "I am."

And she was; whatever he had been, made to be, he wasn't that now. She trusted the man who wore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And that was all that mattered.  
Because maybe one day she would need to put her life in his hands once again, and it would be that decision that would ultimately matter.

**/**

They remained secluded in that cavern for another week. Somewhere in that space of time Felicity realised that hours and days, weeks even, were becoming a foreign concept.

Just before the sun rose every morning, in that dusky moment just before dawn broke, Oliver would take her up the tree where she would breathe in the fresh, salty air and look across what, in itself, was a most awe-inspiring place. For a precious few minutes they would enjoy that; enjoy each other.

A little after dawn broke and the fresh sun radiated across the cloudless sky, he'd carry her back down and she'd let out a soft sigh at feeling the solid ground beneath her feet, before they'd part ways; Oliver to survey their movements and plant the explosives at the key locations, and Felicity to her unground bunker where she would work on what she dubbed her "universal remote".

Days didn't exist like they once had, with names and regiments.  
She'd given up counting how long she'd even been there anymore.

Four weeks?  
Four months?

By now people must have wondered where she was.  
Surely.

She swallowed back the thoughts as the emotions began to regurgitate up her throat; she didn't have time to dwell on them.

She couldn't.

Pulling her attention back down to her task, Felicity carefully threaded one of the wires into the core of the battery, but unexpectedly the sound that followed was one Felicity knew well; the copper wire was fried.

"Damn it Smoak," she muttered under her breath as she banged her palm on the makeshift table top. That was the last one she had.

She dragged her fingers tortuously slow across her scalp as she considered what to do about it. It then occurred to her something she'd seen before; the cockpit, with its layer of dust and its dated hardware, but underneath where the cover plates had fallen off was a veritable smorgasbord of wires.

Judging by the bright lights piecing through the small holes in the ceiling above her, Felicity estimated that it would be some time before Oliver was due back, and by the time he was back it would be near nightfall and he was careful not to travel at night with the patrols around. Which meant that it might be another day before she had that needed wire – another day that they were given the opportunity to find them…

Felicity chewed on the inside of her lip as she considered her options; Oliver had told her that the patrols were favouring the other side of the island and that there was no signs that they had been in or around the wreckage, despite their reasons for abandoning the same.

She knew the wreckage was close, she'd seen it every morning and she was quite sure she could make it there and back in under 30 minutes; 40 tops.

It was a straight path.  
She could be finished by the time Oliver returned that evening.

They could be planning the attack tomorrow, strike while they were still confused.

Oliver was keeping them confused looking at trails he'd left for them.  
They were only looking for Oliver and he'd led them as far away as possible.

She could do it in 30 minutes.

It would be fine.

**/**

Oliver sat in his perch amongst the tips of the tallest trees across the island, deeply breathing in the cool air as it whipped in bursts through the high reaches of the forest canopy. There was a patrol to the east setting up camp for the night and one closer to the south, scouring the rocky gorges that would likely claim a victim or two before the day was over.

They were busy following a path he had designed to lead them back on themselves after a day, buying Felicity more time to finish, safe in the bunker.

His eyes travelled towards the cliffs that dropped off into the ocean. Birds took flight nearby, setting off to sea to find food for their roosting family. While the island was rugged and rough, nature thrived on this little rock; oblivious to everything else around it.

He saw distant white caps breaking along a rocky reef and for the first time that he could vividly remember, Oliver thought about home.

In the months since his addled mind was slowly pieced back together, he hadn't allowed himself such thoughts. It wasn't that Oliver wanted to die, but he had prepared himself for that inevitable eventuality.

The horrors of Lian Yu couldn't be allowed off this dot in the vast ocean, and that included him. He had made his peace with it.

He had hoped his loved ones had mourned and found a quiet but comforting closure. He had asked them for forgiveness and he had wished them happiness.

But she had changed everything.

For once, Oliver had a reason not to die there. For once he had something he had been missing, he had hope. With her soft words and her gentle ways, Felicity had made him believe he could have a life; a life with his family and friends, and even though they'd never specifically said it, a life with her.

Wolves mated for life.  
He felt tethered to her.  
He felt happy.

**/**

She was half way there when Ben appeared in the tree limb ahead of her, he was staring at her intently, and it appeared he was somewhat annoyed at finding her there.  
"It's fine, I'll head right back in a minute," Felicity chatted as she walked closer. When she was almost underneath him, Ben jumped down and curled himself around the back of her neck before he began playing with the light that dappled through the leafy roof and reflected on her honey-coloured hair.

She reached in her pocket and returned with half a chocolate bar which she offered him and he took readily. "Our little secret okay Ben?"  
She took the primate's silence as agreement.

A little further along, Felicity felt Ben move from one shoulder to the other, before perching himself up higher with one hand resting on her head; there was one thing she hadn't considered yet.

Was Ben going with them?  
As the question swirled in her head she distractedly reached up and tickled the fur under his chin. "I'm not sure if you can keep exotic pets as monkeys," she wondered aloud. "I mean Oliver's family are pretty rich, maybe those sorts of rules only apply to the not-so-wealthy?"

Ben made small chatty noises as though he considered that exact same dilemma while they continued walking.

"But this is your home," she sighed, taking a moment to glance around the array of tropical trees. "Maybe you belong here?"

The question stayed unanswered as the next few steps took them into the small clearing where the wreckage was.

Felicity paused on the fringes and looked around, nothing from what she could see looked disturbed and she didn't notice anything unusual around the outside. She listened carefully, but all she heard were the familiar sounds of nature.

In and out, no worries.

**/**

Oliver kept watch from above and decided to himself he would keep a track of them for another hour before he would return to Felicity and see how she was getting on. Nothing much had changed, and they seemed fairly entrenched where they were – on the opposite side of the island to where she was.

It was only a minute, maybe two, after those thoughts passed through his head that he spotted one of them take a call on a long-range radio. Even he was too far away to be able to hear the conversation, but it was short and once it ended the camp seemed to burst into a scurry of action.

Within two minutes the camp had emptied, leaving much of what they had set up behind.

He had never seen such a thing.

He watched as their vehicles drove at their highest speeds through the beaten tracks in the jungle, trees whipping as they passed by; they were heading back to the encampment.

Though their reasons were lost on him.

All flights in and out and any package drops were scheduled, none would come as a surprise. He'd heard no sirens in the distance telling of an escape or infiltration.

He was confident he hadn't been spotted; and they wouldn't be running away if he had.

That left only the idea that they found something they were looking for.

There were only two things he knew they were looking for; himself and the journal.

The journal was with…  
His eyes widened and his mouth gaped; Felicity.

**/**

It didn't take long for Felicity to isolate the wire she needed and, much to her glee, it was in perfect condition. She took a few more for spares and spent a few moments surveying the cockpit while Ben nattered just outside and rummaged through the cupboards.

She couldn't be sure that it worked, but she tugged out the emergency radio and the headset she had once carefully rested on its hook and bundled everything into her knapsack. It was sometime around then that she noticed Ben had gone quiet.

Expecting to find him at her feet when she looked down, she was surprised when she didn't.

She walked into the fuselage, and didn't see him there either.

"Ben?" she called out quietly, but she was greeted by only silence.  
She watched the shadows on the ground underneath the cloth that covered the entrance. It was eerily quiet and still, until a shadow, fleeting but definite, moved on the ground in front of her.

She wasn't alone.

She twisted the strap of the knapsack in her hand and took a step closer to the entry, as the hairs at the back of her neck stood up. She inched closer, steadied her breath, and waited.

There was only one way out of the wreckage… unless.

Felicity turned her attention back to the cockpit, and its shattered windscreen. The jungle had been advancing in on it for probably decades, but as she clambered up onto it she decided she just might fit.

A shard of splintered glass grazed down her bare forearm as she tried to tunnel through the vegetation. It was tight and strangling; and it took everything Felicity had to not cry out as twigs, like daggers, tore at her legs.

But, battered and bruised, she breathed out a silent sigh when her feet finally touched the forest floor. She took a few moments to orient herself before she made the decision to head deep into the growth in the hopes she could stay out of anyone's sight.

But before she could move there was a force, like a lead jacket on her chest, holding her down and making her breathing lumbered and strained. It grew upwards towards her throat, allowing nothing more than splintered breaths and tiny, scratching gasps.

She couldn't move, and she could barely breathe, when two large hands clamped around her shoulders and lifted her completely off the ground. Her feet floundered in the air, tirelessly thrashing about until she was unceremoniously dropped onto the ground. She felt the moment her teeth caught the edge of her lip and her shoulder jolted with pain as she fell on it, but more startling than both was what she saw in front of her.

Two impeccably shined shoes.

"Jane, I presume."

And then everything went dark.

**/**

Oliver found the bunker empty and the door into it unlocked, but nothing was disturbed which meant they hadn't found her, at least here. He rummaged through her suitcase and found the cardigan she usually wrapped around herself at night.

He had been gone for hours, too long to pick up her lingered scent without help. He pressed the crocheted fabric into his face and inhaled, letting the familiar notes of her wrap around his very being before he left the bunker and ran into the jungle, catching just fragments of her scent on the tips of the leaves she must have brushed past.

He knew the direction and momentarily, Oliver was annoyed that he hadn't known to head there first; she had headed back towards the wreckage.

As he grew closer, other aromas assaulted him and his heart grew ill-tempered in his chest. His jaw tensed, his eyes shadowed, and his shoulders puffed up.

When he reached the wreckage he fell into the dirt, frantically noting the fresh tracks that had been left by more than she could have hoped to outrun, together with the distinctive imprint of the bottom of a cane, left almost purposefully undisturbed; he had been there.

"Felicity," Oliver called out as he ran around to the side.

He never made it inside.

He didn't need to.

There was a note pinned to the outside by a sharpened arrow jammed through the metal plating.

**You know where you can find her.**  
**You know what I want.**

**-D**

**/**

Felicity woke up with a headache and the taste of old blood in her mouth. Her eyes struggled to focus as she peeled them open and every breath she took felt tortuous. She found herself on a comfortable bed, her head rested on the pillow, and her arms sitting just in front.

But they were bound tightly with a rope that burned her skin every time she moved, even slightly. Her feet weren't bound and while she thought they were moving, she didn't seem in full control of them.

As the rest of the room came into focus, she realised she was in a tent lit with a few halogen bulbs strung up down the middle. There appeared to be furniture and a floor, and in the middle of the room a man sat with his back to her with a veritable feast of food laid out in front of him.

She looked towards the door, but she could see at least one armed guard in front of the same.  
"Are you hungry Miss Smoak?" a calm, almost suave, voice asked in an accent Felicity couldn't quite pinpoint.  
But that really wasn't what mattered; rather it was the fact he knew her name.

He stood up and Felicity caught sight of the same polished black shoes, but she kept her eyes low, squinting in the hopes he might not believe her awake.

It was futile though.

He already seemed to know she was.

"Are you hungry Miss Smoak?"  
She looked up at him as she drew herself into a small ball, bringing her knees into her chest.

"How do you know my name?" she asked, wincing as the ropes grazed her skin.  
"I know a lot more about you than just your name; Valedictorian class of 2009. Born and raised in Nevada, no siblings, mother in the picture, father's whereabouts unknown. College boyfriend Cooper. One cat."

She did her best to hide her surprise, but that did nothing but seem to make him smile at the attempt. "Do you think people are looking for you Miss Smoak?"  
She remained silent.  
"Your former boss believes you took off with the money she fronted you with your lover, Gavin. No one is looking for you Felicity and by the time anyone does, it will be too late."

He dropped the linen napkin onto his plate and dusted off his hands.  
"It doesn't have to be though," he remarked as he took a step forward. "I can get you off this island, you'll be able to make amends with your former boss, or perhaps I can offer you a new life where your skills will be put to better use than the basement IT department."

She didn't need to ask under what conditions he was offering such a thing, that came only a few moments later.

"Oliver has something he took from me, a book. I want it back," he remarked succinctly.  
"Help me get it and you buy your freedom."  
"I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered in response, her disdain for the man not hidden.

She watched him take a drawn breath, yet his face gave off no emotion. "Yes you do Miss Smoak. Where is Oliver Queen?"  
"Oliver Queen is dead," she spat.

The door opened and a man who had to stoop, walked in, his shoulders brushing against both sides of the frame. He was massive, and in the light his face appeared almost scaly down one side of his neck. His face was angry and he wore a patch over one eye, while the other darted around.

"There was nothing else in her pack," he grunted in a voice that was rumbled and deep as he threw her bag down onto the ground. "But I can make her talk."  
His tongue pushed through his tight lips and for a moment Felicity could have sworn it appeared almost forked. His eyes never left off her, and while she tried to not flinch, she couldn't help but look away from those beady pearls of black.

"You won't find him," she remarked, almost as a laugh.  
The older, smaller man laughed, offputtingly jubilant. "That's why you're here; we won't need to find him. He'll come to us."

**/**

Oliver's guttural howl cracked into the still night as he stood on the very edge of the mountain that overlooked the encampment.

Every person that walked around had a gun at the ready, the smell of gun powder was thick in the air. No doubt every bullet was laced with poison.

They were waiting for him.

They wouldn't have to wait too long.

* * *

**Complete story available on Archive of Our Own, user: vixx2pointOh**


	16. Jackal

**"… the jackal seems to be placed between [the wolf and the dog];**  
**to the savage fierceness of the wolf, it adds the impudent familiarity of the dog...**  
**It is more noisy in its pursuits even than the dog, and more voracious than the wolf."**

**Oliver Goldsmith, **_**A history of the earth, and animated nature**_**. (1816) Vol. 3, p. 56**

Damien walked closer to Felicity, each step taken carefully and considered. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit and his pale, icy blue eyes stayed focused on her.

Felicity could feel the nervous vomit sneaking up her throat, but she pushed it back down and held her ground despite the sensation of coolness in the air that followed him.

From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of something reflective and metal in his hand, but before she could react to the realisation it was a knife, he was upon her with it drawn. Reactively, Felicity screwed her eyes shut and winced as the cold blade pressed against her aching wrists. She felt a tug and she whimpered at the sharp pain where her skin had been rubbed raw, until the pain subsided and the rope, cut, fell unhindered to the floor.

She peeled her eyes open slowly as Damien handed the knife to the man behind him and took one of her wrists into his palm. With his other hand he gently turned her hand, surveying the torn skin.

"My apologies Ms Smoak, your binds were tied far too tight for someone with such soft skin," he remarked before he snapped his fingers and the other man moved much faster than Felicity had imagined his sheer size would allow. He collected a small wooden box, carved with intricate designs around all four sides and lid, which he opened beside Damien.

Inside were seven small vials sitting on black velveteen. Felicity watched as he selected one. Leaving her hand floating in mid air, and with Felicity seemingly unable to lower it of her own accord, he slowly opened the lid, dabbed the contents of the vial onto a small cloth swab and lightly pressed the same onto the scarlet rope burns on her wrist.

The feeling was intense and painful and Felicity reactively cried out as her knees grew weak. But where she might have crumbled with the sudden, engulfing sensation of agony, something unexplainable held her up.

But, just as suddenly as the pain had taken her, it left when he raised the cloth away from her skin. What had once been ribbons of red grazes was nothing more than a slight pink blush on her ivory skin.

Before she could speak he repeated the same action on the other wrist and Felicity felt herself grow faint as darkness stole her sight.

She woke up moments later sitting at the table with her hands resting demurely on her lap. They were dirty, her nail polish chipped, and her knuckles skidded with dirt and old grazes, but the fresh marks that had been on her wrists were gone.

The smell of food was the next thing Felicity noted, it was all encompassing, feeding her senses with the fresh smells of bread and meat and the sweet tingle of fresh fruit. A glass of what appeared to be champagne sat beside her, taunting her with light bubbles and a decedent aroma.

"Please eat Ms Smoak, we can't have you starving," Damien remarked as he sat across the table from her, his clean, manicured hand wrapped around the stem of his glass.  
"I'm not hungry," Felicity lied.  
"Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself, I'm Damien Darhk, the head of this small operation," he started.  
"I know who you are, what you've done."  
"Then you'll also be aware of what I am capable of Ms Smoak."  
It was a thinly veiled threat.

Felicity folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. "You won't get anything from me."

Damien dotted the napkin to the corner of his mouth before he smiled, full teeth and menacingly joyous. "I can see why he's kept you alive. Your strength is endearing if not naive."

He finished his wine and clasped his hands together on the table. "Did Oliver tell you who he was here?"  
Felicity tightened her lips, she wasn't going to answer him.

The older man with silvery hair cocked his head to one side. "I don't suppose he did, did he?" A rhetoric question that he left no time to answer. "They called him the Wolf for reasons I'm sure I don't need to explain. He killed without hesitation and he was my second in command."

"That is what you made him, you destroyed his mind and took away his memories," Felicity argued vehemently. She hated this man for every tortuous act he had inflicted on Oliver and every sleepless night that came with them.  
"On the contrary," he said, a thread of pleasure wrapping his words and expression. "I saved him from his limitations and, in doing so, I allowed him to be what he was on the inside."

"You're a liar!"  
Felicity surprised even herself with her acidic words.  
A smile lifted his lips higher at one end. "Am I? Or is he?"

He stood up and walked over to a brushed aluminium case that looked akin to a surgical tool case. He unlocked the same with a key he wore around his neck and carefully lifted the insulated lid. After pushing a button on the inside lip, three draws opened with a cloud of frosty air. On each level were at least 40 small tablets in three colours, red, green, and blue.

They were no larger than an elongated aspirin, with each tablet carefully housed in a bed of white foam.

"Why is it that you are so eager to believe Oliver when you have seen what he is capable of?"  
The rhetoric question hung heavy in the air as Felicity tightened her grip around her waist; holding her stance and her silence.

"Do you know what these are Felicity? Did your Oliver tell you about these?" He picked up two tablets, one red and one green, and rolled them gently in his palms as he walked back around the table.

"To create soldiers like Oliver or Slade," he remarked, giving the bulky reptilian behind him a name, "is costly and time consuming. Oliver's solution was simple." He opened his palm and showed Felicity the red one. It looked almost glowing; a tiny capsule of viscid red.

"A drug to replicate all the enhancements of the serum, quickly and at any time. The effects would last a few hours, perhaps a day in a higher dose. Undetectable with today's testing so athletes and gang heads alike would reap the benefits." He rolled it around his palm with his thumb as he let out a soft sigh.

"The best part," he spoke calmly as he folded his fist tightly around it, cracking the outer shell. "When it comes into contact with oxygen, it becomes airborne."

He opened his hand to release the gas from the crushed tablet and before Felicity knew what was happening she had inhaled the reddish cloud.

As promised, the effects were immediate, her pupils dilated abnormally wide and as she stood from the table the chair she had been sitting on flew across the room.

An assault of smells bombarded Felicity; the taint of sweat, not her own, the arid dirt beneath the floor, rain drops seeping into the thick canvas walls, and the array of food in front of her. It was all too much and Felicity's hands flew up to her head, holding her palms against her throbbing temples.

The sounds came next; the rain drops on the roof sounded like mortar shells exploding in her ear drums and the effervescent bubbles in her champagne shook like tiny eruptions. Her heart beat thundered in an echo of crusading hooves and she could hear the low, constant thump of her own blood moving through her body.

It was too much.  
All too much.

The pain felt like splinters through her brain and shards of glass behind her eyes. Her fists balled so tightly that she could feel her nails piercing her skin.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" Damien whispered from across the room as he set the green one on the table. He had only whispered the words, but she had heard every one like a shout through a megaphone.

"He didn't tell you about this did he?" Damien continued as he turned to watch her body suffer through the metamorphosis. "Can you feel it in your veins, the power. The fight."

As he spat the last word Slade lunged towards Felicity, but reactively she lifted her forearm and blocked his strike without so much as a shudder. She opened her mouth in disbelief as a surge of strength rushed over her.

"There is only one problem," he spoke calmly from across the room. Felicity collapsed as her heart stalled. "The side effects are quite extraordinary." She heard every footstep he took as he walked towards her. "Your heart stopping and starting causes a tightness in your chest that feels like a vice slowly breaking each rib."

Every word he said echoed her pain.

"The strangled breaths in your throat feel like acid burns and then there is the pulsing behind your eyes." Felicity was on her knees when her body fell forward and her arms barely held her head off the ground. "Tell me Felicity, the pain in your head, is it more like your brain is swelling or your skull is shrinking? Some say it's both at the same time."

She looked up at him with rabid eyes.

He wasn't done yet. "You want to scream but you can't," he whispered as he leaned closer to her ear. "The burning beneath your skin will make you want to tear at your flesh with your own fingers and your blood will soon feel like slithers of glass moving through your veins."

He paused. "It will be excruciating, like nothing you could have imagined." His fingers brushed her cheek and she felt it like sandpaper. "It would be such a waste of something so exquisite as yourself Ms Smoak."

She gasped for air as the strangled feeling began asphyxiating her.

"Many don't survive the side effects. They either die in agony or they throw themselves off a building. Both of which is bad for business," a breathy laugh left his lips and it sounded like a thunderstorm to Felicity.

Her nails clawed at the ground, scouring trenches in the soft wood.

He lifted her chin and looked into her bloodshot eyes.  
"Soon your tears will be like rivers of blood down your cheeks. But the pain won't stop there, it would be a great mercy if it did I'm told."

Her body shook as the pain became unbearable and maddening.  
"Luckily, I had the sense to develop an antidote." A wiry smile turned up his thin lips as Felicity felt the needle plunge into her arm.

She collapsed on the floor gasping as the pain slowly dissipated and her airway opened up.

"You won't die here and now," he offered with callous enjoyment. "Oliver has the answer to my little predicament in the journal he stole. Which he stole them to make this himself. His cause is no more noble than my own."  
Crumpled on the floor and sobbing for air, Felicity used all she had to say one, quietly rasped word. "Liar."

Damien stood up and ground his back teeth together in an angry hiss.  
"If he doesn't bring the journal, the next time you won't be given the antidote."

He collected his cane and walked towards the door, pausing just before it to offer one last warning. "Even the prettiest of vases get broken in war."

"Guard her," he barked at the one he had called Slade before he left, slamming the door behind him.

**/**

Felicity could feel the intensity of the Reptile's stare from across the room. Her head was still foggy as she traced the indents her nails had made in the inside of her palm. There was something unnerving about the silence, which was disrupted only by the deliberately deep breaths he occasionally took.

After some time had passed, Slade stood and drew the sword from his back. The sound of it echoed around the still room before he dropped it onto the table a few feet away from where Felicity was sitting on the bed.

"Did he enjoy you?"  
He spoke with a rasp as he blinked reactively.  
Felicity's spine tingled with every word, but she remained stoic and silent.  
"Did you enjoy him?"  
He moved closer, one slow step at a time.

"Did he leave bruises on your skin?" His words were breathy and tumultuous as his large frame put her in his shadow. A breath escaped his lips as he leaned over her, and the sound it made was akin to a hiss that sent chills across Felicity's body.

"Get away from me," she spat as she pushed her body backwards.  
But he was in no mind to listen and when he leaned even closer, Felicity hit out at him with everything that she had. Her fist ricocheted off his solid chest before he gripped her wrist tightly and yanked her to her feet.

Her toes barely scratched the floor as he held her up by one arm like a ragdoll. When she screamed, he threw her down onto the bed with a force that knocked the wind from her lungs and left her whimpering on the mattress.

"Did he enjoy you?" he asked again, a hiss wrapping the edges of the words as he spoke them through gritted teeth.  
When Felicity didn't answer, he raised a hand and she took a sharp inhale, preparing herself for what might come next.

**/**

The Jackal had watched her.  
Carefully noting the way her body curled into itself while she was unconscious.

He had watched as they had bound her hands before he plunged the arrow holding the note into the metal sheet.

He had picked her crumpled body up carefully, making sure to leave no trace of his scent on her; the Wolf would know.

He had laid her carefully on the bed making sure that no one touched her before he sunk into the shadows. He'd spent his time noting the lightness of her aroma, it was floral and pleasant on the one hand, while being richly decadent on the other. He was unsurprised the Wolf has chosen her; there was a spit of fire in her, which he saw when she didn't shrink back from Damien, a perfect characteristic for an Alpha female.

Her skin was pearlescent and her eyes brilliant, but beyond just her outward beauty, the Jackal saw so much more.

He could taste every emotion she gave off, despite her efforts to hide them and it took all his control to stay in the shadows and keep his distance.

When the _rebirth_ infected her, he saw the depth of her fight and the strength of her heart, and he knew that Damien had underestimated them both.

She was no mere trophy to his kin.  
All who touched her sealed their fates.

This was not his war.  
He would not fight it.

The Island would burn.

His rage grew as the Reptile's venomous words hailed down on her. His instincts were untameable when his rough skin twisted around her wrist.

He could not sit idle a moment longer.

**/**

"If I cut off your hand, will another one grow back?" another voice from the shadows asked as something shiny embedded itself in the floor, right beside Slade's foot.  
The figure, masked with a black hood, stepped into the light with a thin blade, a chokutō drawn.

"This is none of your business," Slade scowled as he kicked his boot into the shuriken, thrown and used as a warning.  
"If you touch a hair on her head he will slaughter you faster than you could blink your double lids. While I admit that would be fascinating to watch, Damien said to watch her, not touch her."  
His voice was muffled by a tattered mask that he wore wrapped around his nose and mouth, but as he moved closer, his weapon still drawn, Felicity noted the dark brow and the brown eyes of a man. He seemed a similar build to Oliver; slightly leaner than Slade.

"I'll kill him before he got the chance," Slade argued before he lunged towards the table.  
But the other man's speed was no match for him and before he could reach the sword he'd left on the table, the sharpened blade nicked the rough skin on Slade's throat.  
"You'll never even see him coming," he whispered, a soft chuckle making his words more menacing.  
It was then Felicity realised the door had never opened, the man had been there the whole time, but she'd never seen him. He must have been the third.

The one like Oliver.

Slade huffed indignantly before he stormed across the semi-permanent tent and pounded on the locked door. It opened to him and without another word, he left.

The _Third_ sheathed his sword in a scabbard and moved soundlessly towards the bed, Felicity whimpered unwillingly as she curled into a ball.

"I mean you no harm," he said softly as he offered Felicity his hand.  
She didn't take it, but she sat up and pressed her back into the headboard as she tucked her knees into her chest.  
"Who are you?" she asked hurriedly to try and mask the quiver in her voice.  
"They call me the Jackal, though I go by many other names," he answered as he took a step back, perhaps, she thought, to offer her some assurance to his first statement to her; though she stayed where she was.

"You're enhanced?" Felicity asked, "Like the others?"  
"You mean like him don't you?"  
"Are you like _him_?"  
"You already know that answer. He told you about me didn't he?"  
She looked into the pools of his chestnut eyes, but they gave nothing away.

"You're the one made from his blood, a second generation?" She watched as his eyes tensed and his brow creased, he didn't seem to like what she had said, though he gave no hint of that in his calm and considered answer.  
"In part, thus the name, a Jackal is like a wolf, but not quite."  
"What was your name before this?" Felicity questioned, curious not only for the answer but watching his eyes for what might not be said.  
"A name is given and a name is taken," he replied, as if by writ. "Of what benefit would knowing mine be, if I never asked for it, nor chose it?"  
"It's given in love but taken in strife," Felicity answered.  
As he stepped closer, Felicity saw flecks of black in his eyes. "Not always," he whispered before she heard the slow inhale of air.

It was much like Oliver had once done, and Felicity recognised the sound of a breath as it was being taken deep while he inhaled her, memorising her scent and uncovering her emotions.

"The Wolf cares very deeply for you," he remarked as he reached a gloved hand towards her hair, but he withdrew it when she pulled back. "And you for him." He could taste their lingering scents twisted and bound together. She was the Wolf's and he was hers.

"His name is Oliver," Felicity said bitterly.  
"Is that what he told you?"  
"What they made him here, what they made you all," she started, but he soon interrupted with an amused laugh that resonated into his eyes.  
"I was chosen, not made."  
"Is there is a difference?"

He said nothing, but she was sure she saw the traits of a smile in his eyes.  
"You're afraid?" he said after a few moments of silence.  
She assumed his senses were attuned much like Oliver's, so she never questioned how he might know that. "Should I be?"  
"Yes," he replied without irony.  
"Of you?"  
"Of us all," he warned. "Including your Wolf."

"I'm not afraid of Oliver," she retorted, using his name seemed to make the stranger's brow twitch, perhaps a minor advantage for her when she had no others to speak of.  
"This Oliver no longer exists, what he's allowed you to see hides the Beast, but not for long. Surely you know this? We are all monsters in the end."  
Her lips pinched and her head shook; she knew him, he was no beast, no monster.

"Monsters lie within us all, the serum didn't create the Wolf, it bound itself to him because it already existed inside him. He survived when others died because the two halves were never at war. Your Oliver is the Wolf, they are one. Soon all distinction between them will go, he will embrace himself as he is, as he was destined to be."  
The words he spoke wore no emotion, he spoke them as fact; already set in stone.

"You've seen how he can kill, and soon you will see how he enjoys it," he warned.  
"I know what he's done, what they made him do, but you're wrong," Felicity bit back the tears that threatened to expose her fears. Not of Oliver, but of what this might do to the threads of his control and the guilt he wore so deeply.

"No, the mind can fight if it's willing. Men died not for their weaknesses but because they fought against becoming their animal. Your Oliver, the Wolf lives because he gave himself to it, it consumed him. The Reptile was once more man than monster, but as he slowly offers himself to the Beast in repayment for the strength, he becomes more animal than man. His skin turns to scales, his eyes blink twice, his tongue splits at the centre. We are all monsters in the end."  
"Is that why you hide your face?"  
"Perhaps."

He sighed, as though he was saddened by her resilience. "You will try to tame the Beast, but you will fail and he will destroy everything you love, until there is only you left. With your last breath you'll try to find him, this man that you love, but all you'll find is the Wolf, grey and hungry, because that is who he is. The beast always wins."  
"You want me to believe that, for some reason you _need_ me to believe that," Felicity countered as she unravelled her arms from around her folded legs.

She stood off the bed, unafraid; death had already tried to come for her so often, and she had escaped it's clutches, perhaps she would then too.

"You said you meant me no harm, am I to believe that too?" Felicity asked with weary eyes.  
"What you choose to believe is of no consequence to me."  
She watched him shuffle, though his feet moved with near-silence. _That wasn't true._

"You hate him and yet you revere him," she watched his shoulders stiffen and his eyes sharpen on her. "You are afraid of him because you know you can't kill him. He is both your creation and your undoing."  
"The forest burns so new life can grow from the ashes," he offered, breathy and gravelled.

"Show me," she breathed as she reached a trembling hand toward him, but before she could touch him, he drew back. "Can you smell him on me? Is that why you pull back? Why you wear gloves?"  
"You are his Ms Smoak." Her name dripped hauntingly-slow from his mouth, and although his lips were hidden from her, she felt them quiver as he spoke. "He will kill for you, but he will also die for you. I will simply wait for that day. Even Darhk underestimates your importance."

Felicity watched as he walked towards the door and knock twice, but before it opened she called out to him. "There was a small monkey with me when I was taken, if he's here bring him to me."  
"And why would I do that?"  
She inhaled deeply and held the breath. "Because I'm the only one not afraid of him and you want to know why."

His eyes softened, perhaps a smirk or a smile beneath his cloth mask, and then he left.

**/**

Oliver strapped the final weapon to his body; a knife near his left ankle, before he picked up the journal and squeezed it tightly in his fist, which buckled the inches of paper.

Felicity would be leaving this island, no matter the cost.

Death would come that night.  
There was a taste in the air and a haunting warning in the breeze.

Death was coming.  
He would bring it.

**/**

After what felt like hours, making Felicity doubt the choices she had made, the door finally opened again and the Jackal appeared carrying a cage.

Felicity rushed forward to see Ben lying on the floor of the metal cage, curled into a motionless ball.

"What did you do to him?" she hissed as he set the cage down on the bed.  
"A tranquilizer dart."  
The explanation was given without emotion as he turned and walked back the way he'd come.  
"Thank you," Felicity said softly making him pause.  
"Don't thank me Ms Smoak, the Wolf will die by my hand and I won't show his mate any mercy if you get in my way," he answered with a hushed whisper as he kept his back to her.

He left without another word passing between them. But, the moment the click of the door lock resonated through the silence, Ben jumped up and bobbed his head excitedly.

Felicity looked at him and his sudden recovery with bemusement. "Were you faking that?" she intoned before she sat down on the bed and sighed. "You're not going to like what I'm going to ask you to do Ben," she commented as she opened his cage and offered him her finger. His hand grappled her finger as he climbed out of his cage. "But I need you to do this, okay?"

He sat comfortably on her lap and squeezed her finger.

"I'll take that as a yes."


End file.
